


Whumptober 2020

by dancingroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, British Men of Letters (Supernatural) Being Assholes, Buried Alive, Check Chapter Summaries for specific TWs, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Episode: s07e14 Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie, Home Invasion, Hurt Sam Winchester, Kidnapped, Men of Letters Bunker, Minor Character Death, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con in chapter 6 please be careful, Soldiers, Whump, please don’t read chapter 4 I’m begging you it sucks so bad and I fully intend on replacing it soon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 36,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26766472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingroses/pseuds/dancingroses
Summary: I’ll be adding tags as the chapters come out, and each chapter with have specific warnings at the top!
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	1. Let’s Hang Out Sometime

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Waking up restrained/shackles/hanging
> 
> TWs for this chapter:  
> Restraints, chains, gun(shots), minor character death

It seemed quite awful if he thought about it, but if Sam had a dime for every time he woke up restrained in some way, in a random place, he’d be able to buy an extravagant king-sized bed. That doesn’t seem like a lot, but that’s over 300 times he’s been kidnapped, and compared to the average kidnapping rate, that’s pretty excessive. Luckily, he was taught what his brother called “Hostage 101” from an alarmingly early age.

Step one; investigate surroundings. The room was dim, some kind of heaviness in the air, like fog or smoke. His wrists ached something awful, and it was a very sudden and overwhelming realization that his feet weren’t, in fact, touching the floor. Looking up, he found thick metal encasing his wrists, the sharp edges digging painfully into his flesh and causing blood to drip down his forearm. The shackles were attached to more thick metal, in the form of chains leading up to a bolt embedded in the ceiling.

Sam had been hung like this before. It was never a particularly pleasant experience. The heavy feeling in his feet and legs, as though all the blood in his body was lying in his legs and weighing him down, was always the worst part. Although, he also didn’t like the ache in his shoulders as they are wrenched to an awkward angle, one which they don’t seem too fond of. And, of course, the stinging pain in his wrists as whatever material they use to hold him bites into his skin as it fights against his weight.

Looking at the metal, Sam knew he wasn’t getting out of this one on his own. He’s sure his lock pick isn’t even in the room, and even if it is, he surely can’t reach it. And there was no way he’s breaking free, unless his captors decide to pump him full of gamma radiation.

Step two; find brother. Sam could already tell Dean wasn’t in the building. Judging from the wallpaper peeling off the wood, he was in a house. And not a very large one. He would definitely have heard Dean shouting curse words and demanding to be taken to his brother by then. And if Dean’s not there, that means he’s out there looking for Sam. 

Sam had full faith in his brother’s ability to find him. No matter where Sam was, Dean always managed to show up in the nick of time. There was no one in their lives that Sam trusted more. Which meant he was able to keep a level head, knowing that Dean would arrive any minute.

Step three; why am I here? Sam hadn’t seen the face of whoever attacked him at the motel. Which meant he had no idea why he was attacked. Usually there were only three reasons someone would kidnap a Winchester. One; brownie points. They were trying to win the favor of a higher up, and knew that if delivered a Winchester, they’d be praised. Two; revenge. Odds are, Sam or Dean killed someone the kidnapper cared about and now they want revenge. That one was the most common. Three; food. Pretty self explanatory.

Now all he had to do was narrow it down. If this were for brownie points, he would already be with the boss, which meant this wasn’t option one. If this was for food, he’d already be dinner. Which meant this was revenge. Always a favorite of Sam’s. Usually revenge kidnappings meant a very long and boring story about how and when Sam or his brother wronged the person in the past, then they’d tell him their evil plan, then they’d try to kill him and fail because Dean showed up.

Just then the run down wooden door peeled open with an ear-piercing creak sound, revealing a tall, bearded… farmer? The man was wearing a buttoned up plaid shirt, tucked into a pair of blue jeans, with a pair of work boots on his feet. The man entered without a word, setting his pistol on the table by the door and turning to face Sam.

“Mornin’ sunshine.” He said, leaning back against the edge of the table. Within seconds, Sam could tell he was right. The man was trying to hide it behind cockiness and a smirk, but he was furious with Sam. His eyes were raging as he glared down his hostage.

“Who are you?” Sam asked, wishing more than anything he could readjust his shoulder as the burning pain travelled through his entire torso. The man chuckled at the question, staring at his shoes for a moment.

“You don’t know me. But your brother does.” The man said, spitting the word brother as if it were poison on his tongue. “Name’s Colton. Colton Battle. Nice to meet ya.”

“What’d my brother do to you?” Sam asked, already knowing what he was gonna say. Something along the lines of ‘he murdered someone I love’. That was always the shtick with these guys.

“What did he do to me? He only murdered my parents.” Colton snapped, the glare in his eyes fierce and full of rage.

“What were they?” Sam asked, waiting for the opportunity to tell this guy how stupid he was.

“Excuse me?” Colton asked, his glare sharpening at the question.

“My brother’s never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it. So, I’ll ask again. What were they? Werewolves? Vampires? Serial murderers? What?” Sam repeated, making sure to keep his heart rate down. If this man was a monster, he could probably hear Sam’s pulse, and he couldn’t be afraid in front of him.

“Werewolves. Not that it mattered. They never hurt nobody!” Colton snapped, his western accent showing finally.

“Well, I can promise you that that’s not true.” Sam mumbled, rolling his eyes. He was getting sick of reliving the same old thing every few years.

“Now, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’m after revenge. And there’s two ways I could get it today. I could wait and kill your brother. Or…” Colton trailed off, grabbing the pistol off the table and making his way over to Sam. “I could just kill you.”

“And how would that be getting revenge on Dean?” Sam asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear the man say it.

“Don’t try to play me, man. Everyone knows your brother would go to hell and back for you. And if I kill you, he has to live knowing he’s the reason his little brother is dead.” Colton reasoned, cocking the pistol and fiddling with it in his hands.

“He’ll gut you for this.” Sam warned, knowing Dean would hunt this man to the ends of the earth and beyond if he so much as laid a hand on Sam.

“Do I look like I care? Do I look like I got anything more to live for then getting revenge on your jackass brother?” He questioned, making sure to look Sam in the eye.

Suddenly, shots rang out in the hallway, and the thuds of bodies hitting the floor filled the run down building. San grinned despite himself, knowing Dean had shown up finally. A heavy boot hit the door, wood splintering and flying in every direction as the lock split open, revealing pissed Dean in the doorway, wielding his pistol.

“Ah ah ah!” Colton warned, pointing the gun directly at Sam’s skull.

“Put the gun down, or so help me God, I will blow your head off.” Dean growled, his finger tight on the trigger.

Colton seemed to judge how serious Dean was, his grip squeezing the metal of the gun. “You put your gun, unless you wanna be scraping brain matter off the wall.”

Sam sighed once more. This is always where these situations ended up. Some kind of Mexican standoff. Sam had not the time, nor the energy to deal with this tedious stare down, so he simply kicked Colton hard in the shoulder, knocking the gun out of his hand as he stumbled to regain his footing. He reached to pick the gun back up, but Dean quickly kicked it out of his reach.

“Don’t even think about it.” He threatened, his gun pointed right between Colton’s eyes. Dean knew better than to stand too close, as Colton could snatch the gun out of his hand. 

“You threaten my brother?” Dean growled, eerily steady as he glared down Colton, who threw his hands up and went straight for the ‘beg for mercy once the plan has failed’ tactic.

“No! I wasn’t gonna do anything!” Colton insisted, watching the pistol in Dean’s hands warily.

“Sam?” Dean asked, not taking his eyes off the man in front of him.

“Oh yeah. He told me his whole evil plan, he was definitely gonna kill me. Also, he’s a werewolf.” Sam hinted, feeling smug as he watched the monster cower in fear in front of his brother.

“Good thing I brought silver bullets.” Dean said, just as a bang rang out, blood splattering the wall as Colton’s lifeless form slumped to the ground with a thud.

Dean put his gun back in his belt, before walking straight over to Sam. “You alright?” The question seemed light and careless, but Sam could hear the heaviness behind it.

“Yeah, just sore arms.” Sam assured him, knowing that Dean couldn’t truly focus unless he knew Sam was unharmed.

“Keys?” Dean asked, looking up at the thick metal encasing Sam’s wrists.

“Didn’t see any. Check his pockets.” Sam suggested, just wanting to get down. Dean found the keys in Colton’s shirt pocket, and he had to stretch to reach the lock. There was a soft  _ click _ , before the metal gave way and Sam landed heavily on his feet, stumbling a little. Dean steadied him easily, a hand on his chest and shoulder.

“You good?” He asked again, always too careful.

“Yeah, just my legs are asleep.” Sam said, and Dean frowned.

“Here, sit.” And despite not wanting to be babied, Sam knew Dean was right, so he sat on the hard, wood floor.

“Lemme see your hands.” Dean ordered gently, using that voice he saved for injured Sam. The one that Sam couldn’t refuse, so he held his hands out for his brother to look at. Dean’s frown deepened at the harsh, bloody cuts encircling Sam’s wrists.

“I’ve got a first aid kit in the trunk, stay here.” Dean said, before grabbing his gun and going out to the impala. When he returned he held what looked like a tool kit, but was in fact their first aid.

Sam obediently let Dean clean and wrap his wrists, hissing a few times at the pain, for which Dean promptly murmured an apology before telling him to stop acting like a baby. Once he was satisfied that Sam wouldn’t get an infection, he went to work cleaning up the bodies as Sam tried to return blood flow to his limbs.

It was a good ten more minutes before they made it out to the car, and Dean began the three hour drive back to the bunker. Meanwhile, Sam easily fell asleep leaning against the door, knowing he was safe with his brother.


	2. In The Hands Of The Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Pick who dies”/collar/kidnapped
> 
> TWs for this chapter: choking, chains, kidnap, demon, minor character death (ambiguous), knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober day 2 has finished!! Hope you like this chapter, it’s a teeny bit shorter than yesterday’s, but I’m proud either way.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t woken by the shouting of the two people across the room, nor by the pounding sensation emanating from his right temple. He was instead woken by the uncomfortable choking sensation currently causing his lungs to ache. His first instinct was to reach his hands up to his throat, fumbling around desperately to try and loosen whatever was cutting off his breathing. However, all he found was a thick, metal chain encircling his throat.

One end was fed through the loop at the other end, and something was tugging so hard on the long end that his body was ever so slowly inching across the ground, his weight being dragged by his neck. The metal was so tight against his skin that he couldn’t even get his fingers underneath it to improve his breathing capabilities. 

His sudden movement seemed to get the attention of the others, as their shouting immediately ceased. Within seconds, Sam knew one of them was his brother, Dean. It was made obvious pretty quickly by the way he started calling Sam’s name, a hint of panic lacing his voice.

“De?” Sam called in response, his voice weak and hoarse as it fought against the chain squeezing his throat. His vision was white and fuzzy around the edges, which made his heart start beating erratically. Sam had been strangled before, he knew exactly when he would pass out, and this wasn’t too far behind. The strain in Sam’s voice seemed to enrage Dean, if the furious curse words flying off his tongue could be taken as a clue. 

“Just tell us what you want!” Dean shouted, clearly fighting whatever was holding him away from his brother, judging by the metallic clanking of chains nudging against each other.

“I told you. I want a dead Winchester. The rest is up to you, Dean.” The other voice, which Sam was sure was a woman, spoke up, much calmer now. The woman’s voice sounded very familiar, but Sam couldn’t seem to place it to a face and name. And at this point, his vision was far too blurry to see her.

In the single minute since he’d woken up, his body had been dragged several inches further from where he was before. Dragged towards what? He had no way of knowing. Dean and the woman continued to argue, as Sam tried his best to restore his vision.

“Meg, this isn’t funny! Let us go right now!” Dean ordered, and finally Sam realized why the woman seemed so familiar. Of course it was Meg.

“I’m not laughing. You, Dean Winchester, get to pick who dies. You…” she paused, pointing her knife at Dean’s face, before turning it to point at Sam, “or your brother?”

Sam’s eyes had cleared up just enough to notice the drastic and sudden loss of color in Dean’s face. And Sam was sure that if his own face wasn’t blue as a kyanite stone, his own face would turn white as well. He knew exactly how this was going to end. Every time the choice was given between Dean and Sam, Dean  _ always _ sacrificed himself without even thinking about it. Hell, Sam did the same.

And with the choices clearly being between Sam choking to death, or Dean being stabbed, obviously he would choose the latter. Dean seemed to have the same thought process as his brother.

“You already know my answer.” Dean growled, not taking his eyes off Meg, who smiled psychotically as she crouched down to Dean’s level.

“Yeah, I do. But I wanna hear you say it.” Meg whispered, leaning uncomfortably close to Dean’s face. A big part of Meg’s attempts at intimidation was sexual tension. She loves to possess nice looking, young women and flaunt every inch of them in front of her prey, as if it would make them less likely to hurt her. Luckily, at this point in their relationship with the demon, they’d grown immune to it.

“Meg-” Dean paused, licking his lips and sighing frustratedly, before looking her in the eye in defiance. “Kill me.”

The demon grinned, standing back up and walking over to the cabinet in the corner, pulling out a large pair of bolt cutters and setting them on the floor just barely out of Sam’s reach. She then crouched back down, slipping the demon blade out of Dean’s back pocket and twirling it between her fingers.

Sam could feel the empty space in his chest where the air should be. But, instead of a pleasant, floating sensation, his entire body was on fire. His poor lungs were  _ screaming _ at him to please, just  _ breathe _ . But, he couldn’t satiate their hunger for oxygen. The room was spinning at one hundred miles an hour as the black cloud completely invaded his vision, accompanied by bright, white spots. He was going to pass out any second now, he knew that for sure.

And just as he felt his limbs start to go numb, a clang was heard across the room, followed by a scuffle and a bright orange light. Meg screamed, before the thud of her body hitting the floor boomed throughout the eerily silent room.

When it seemed as though Sam would finally be given peace in unconsciousness, hands were suddenly on his throat. But, he knew these hands, they were safe hands, so he didn’t bother fighting. Either way, he was too tired to lift his fingers, let alone fight off an assailant. The hands vanished for a short second, before the crunching sound of metal being chewed through appeared, and then, all of the pressure that had been bearing down on his throat released very suddenly.

He felt the hands return to his neck, unlooping the chain and tossing it to the other side of the room with a clang. It took a second for his mind to catch up and relearn how to breathe, before he gasped in a large breath, shooting upright from the floor.

The voice attached to the hands was speaking, calm and reassuring, but Sam’s ears were ringing far too loud for him to understand what the voice was saying. He continued to pant like a dog. Heavy, desperate breaths coming far too quickly, but at least he was breathing. One hand rubbed up and down Sam’s back, as the other gripped his shoulder to steady him, as his whole body was shaking and he was swaying weakly.

“-eathe, okay? You got this, you’re alright. Just breathe.” Dean’s voice finally broke through the haze in Sam’s mind, and he latched onto his brother’s calm and caring words to force himself to slow down. Hyperventilating wasn’t much better than choking.

The two remained on the floor for another ten minutes, as Sam watched the black cloud fade away from his view, being replaced by the normal world, if only a little blurry. Dean’s hands never left Sam’s body, and Sam wasn’t sure if he was reassuring Sam or himself.

When his senses finally returned to normal, Sam was finally able to acknowledge the terrible ache encircling his throat. He reached a hand up to massage the skin, knowing there’d be one hell of a bruise the next day.

“You good? You breathin’?” Dean asked, genuine concern lacing his tone, and Sam couldn’t be bothered to waste precious air, so he nodded weakly and gripped his brother’s shoulder in reassurance.

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re gonna wanna talk for a while, bud. Finally some peace and quiet.” Dean joked, but Sam knew he was only trying to cheer his little brother up. Despite his constant badgering, Dean sincerely hated when Sam went silent.

Another minute or two and Dean managed to get Sam on his feet, although the taller man had to lean heavily into his brother’s side, still far too light headed to walk on his own. The trip to the car was slow and painful, but Dean finally got his brother back in the car safely.

Sam noticed on the drive home that Dean kept glancing over at him every five minutes or so, probably checking to make sure his brother was, in fact, still breathing. In the meantime, Sam chewed on some ice that they picked up on their way out of the hotel, trying to soothe the swelling in his throat.


	3. My Way Or The Highway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Manhandled/Forced to knees/Gunpoint
> 
> TWs for this chapter: guns (not fired), hostage situation, home invasion, soldiers, tactical gear, rifles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all enjoy this chapter! I’m really enjoying Whumptober 2020 so far, and I hope you are too!!

It was almost absurd how exhausted Sam was. He’d been up for days doing research, pouring through a never ending pile of books and websites. Searching for anything they could use against the devil, who’d rebounded once more. Currently he’s somewhere on Earth, riding around in a rockstar. 

Dean was going to bed and waking up as usual, but Sam just couldn’t rest. Not even for an hour. Not knowing that Lucifer was walking the Earth once more. Sam was well aware of the difference between the way he viewed Lucifer and the way Dean viewed Lucifer.

Dean despised Lucifer. Absolutely loathed him. For many reasons, the most prominent being that he’d had the audacity to lay even a finger on Sam. Sam was sure Dean had never hated anyone more in all his life, and that was quite the superlative coming from a man who had plenty of reasons to hate plenty of people.

But, Sam didn’t just hate Lucifer. No, he was petrified of him. He couldn’t even keep himself from flinching when someone mentioned his name. And now, knowing he was back on Earth roaming free, how could anyone expect him to just go to bed?

So that’s where they were at. Sam and Dean both sitting at the long table in the main room of the bunker, scouring every page of every book they owned. Cas was supposed to be helping but he got dragged away by some angel business, and none of them knew when Mary would ever show her face again. That’s why neither of them jumped when the door opened. Surely, it was Cas returning.

“Hey Cas! Get down here, Sam might’ve found something!” Dean called at the now open door, not looking up from the table. Cas didn’t respond, but neither of them seemed to notice.

Finally, a voice rang out. “Afternoon, boys.” That was not Cas. Sam was the first to look up, his senses having been on high alert all week. He found not his angel friend, but instead Arthur Ketch, standing on the top step leading up to the main room. Dean followed soon after, before jumping out of his seat and pulling his gun. Sam stood up as well, but he didn’t have his gun with him. Why would he? He’s in his own house, which was supposed to be the safest place on Earth.

“Now now, Dean. Is that really necessary?” Ketch asked, his heavy posh accent clear as day.

“Give me one good reason not to blow your head off this instant.” Dean growled, his finger tight on the trigger. Ketch smiled in response, his hands calm at his sides.

“I’ll give you ten.” He said, before Just as he promised, ten heavily armed men in tactical gear appeared from behind the walls. Dean didn’t even flinch, unlike his brother, who’s whole body tensed up.

“I’d put the gun down if I were you.” Ketch remarked, gesturing to the clearly loaded rifles in his men’s hands. Dean grit his teeth angrily, before clicking the safety on and dropping his pistol to the floor and holding his hands up in surrender. Sam copied him. 

“Come on. Further.” Ketch was clearly taunting Dean deliberately, probably trying to draw a reaction from him. Looking for any excuse to shoot him. Nevertheless, Dean complied, kicking his gun towards Ketch and his men.

Ketch, now confident the boys were weaponless, walked forward until he and Dean were practically touching noses. The staring contest between them was intense, and Sam watched warily, hoping his brother wasn’t going to do something stupid.

“Now, get down.” Ketch ordered, never even blinking. Dean’s eyes narrowed, and Sam could practically feel the rage emanating off of him, as he glared back at the British man. Clearly that was a hard no. Ketch smiled arrogantly.

“Alright, we’ll do this the hard way.” The brit said, before backing away from Dean. The brothers watched him in confusion, until another armed soldier appeared from behind them. Neither of them noticed, too busy warily watching the boss.

The man reached Dean’s back, swiftly grabbing both of his arms and wrenching them hard behind his back. Dean cried out against the painful angle his shoulders were being pulled towards, more at the shock than the pain. The man then stomped his heavy boot into the back of Dean’s right knee, causing it to buckle, which immediately put Dean on the floor, though he was held upright by the man’s grip on his arms.

“You too, pretty boy. On the floor.” Ketch said, far too calm for Sam’s liking. Sam glanced once at his brother, who was currently death glaring Ketch, before falling to his knees as well.

“Now, I’m not here to kill either of you, but don’t think I’ll hesitate to do exactly that if you irk me.” Ketch warned them, clearly meaning it for Dean.

“Then why are you here?” Dean snapped, tugging against the grip of the man behind him.

“I’m looking for your angel. I have orders to kill him.” Ketch answered honestly, finally looking over at Sam.

“Sammy. You’ve been awfully quiet.” He noted, tilting his head curiously.

“I have nothing to say to you.” Sam answered, shrugging his shoulders. And it was true. Ketch seemed to ponder his answer for a moment, before glancing back at one of his shoulders.

“Search him.” He ordered.

“Go ahead. I don’t have anything.” Sam said, holding his hands further out to allow the soldier easy access to his sleeves.

“Ketch, we don’t even know where Cas is. He’s off with his angel buddies. He hasn’t answered our calls in days.” Dean told him, trying to ignore the burning pain in his shoulders from his arms being wrenched so far behind his back.

Ketch ignored him, watching the man search Sam. Finally, he froze, pulling a blade from Sam’s left sock. The guard stood, handing the knife to Ketch.

“Don’t have anything, huh?” Sam only shrugged, seemingly not caring that Ketch found the demon blade in his boot.

“Is this the demon blade? We've been looking everywhere for this beauty. And you boys had it all along. Figures.” Ketch tucked the demon blade in his belt, before clapping his hands together and sighing.

“If you boys truly don’t know where the angel is, I believe our business here is done.” Ketch said, moving forward to crouch in front of Dean once more. “Hope to see you again soon.”

“Ketch, the next you see me, I’ll be there to kill you. And you’re damn right it’s gonna be soon.” Dean threatened, looking Ketch in the eye.

“Good luck with that. Let him go.” He ordered, standing up and walking back over to his men. Dean breathed in relief as his arms were finally released, pulling them in front of him, but knowing better than to stand up yet.

“See you, boys!” Ketch called as the door slammed shut behind him. The boys got to their feet, Dean making his way over to Sam, absently rubbing his shoulder to try to ease the throbbing pain.

“You alright?” Sam asked, noticing the action immediately.

“It’ll be sore for a day or two, but I’m fine. You?” Dean returned, even though Sam has barely been touched.

“I’m alright. But, we gotta call Cas, right?” Sam asked, already pulling his phone out of his pocket.

They filled their friend in on the situation, and not even an hour later Dean went to bed. Although, like every night before it, Sam stayed up and did more research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to point out any grammar mistakes or spelling errors in the comments, these aren’t beta read.


	4. Running Out Of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skipping this chapter for now

Skipping this chapter for now


	5. Where Do You Think You’re Going?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: On the run/Failed escape attempt/Rescued
> 
> TWs for this chapter: Graphic depictions of violence (not really that graphic tho), guns (shots fired), minor character death, monster, werewolf, hunting humans, stitches, excessive blood
> 
> (Let me know if I missed any)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping today is better than yesterday. Please enjoy!

Sam had been looking for his brother for over 24 hours and to say he was getting worried was one hell of an understatement. Dean never just vanished deliberately, which meant he was taken. And odds are he was taken by the werewolf family they were currently hunting. And logic said that werewolves wouldn’t keep his brother alive this long. But, his gut told him Dean was still alive.

And by the time he reached the family’s farmhouse, he could only hope to god he was right. He made his way into the two story building, hoping to find the wolves immediately. Unfortunately, the place seemed empty.

_ What the hell? _

Searching around back, he found several pairs of very fresh footprints, and he recognized the tread of his brother’s boots. So Dean escaped, and they followed him into the woods? How far did he get? Is he still out there?

Sam took off after the footprints, his senses dialed up to eleven. Hunting down his brother in the woods wouldn’t be easy. If Dean didn’t wanna be found, no one was gonna find him. But no one knew Dean better than Sam. If anyone could find the best hunter in America in the middle of strange woods at night while also avoiding a pack of werewolves, it was Sam.

His first halt came when the footprints suddenly stopped. And honestly? Sam had no idea how Dean had managed that. And unfortunately, unlike their werewolf friends, Sam couldn’t just sniff his brother out. He had to try to predict what Dean’s next move would be. And his gut told him his brother would keep heading west, as they both knew that was the direction of the nearest road. 

So, he headed west. And after a few minutes of walking, Dean’s footprints appeared out of the blue. So Sam kept following, desperate to find his brother. It wasn’t until he reached the creek about a mile from the house that he heard the shot. He took off towards the sound, not caring how reckless it was. That sounded like Dean’s gun. And, pushing a few giant branches out of the way, he realized he was right. 

Lying on the floor about ten feet away, his pistol in his hands pointed up at the wolf circling him menacingly, was Dean. His left leg clearly had four long,  _ deep _ scratches which would be enough to even knock Dean Winchester down. They were bleeding excessively, the red liquid gushing from the wound and coating the leaves below. Sam assumes the scratch cut Dean’s femoral artery, looking at the amount of blood he was losing.

Besides the fact that he was bleeding to death, Dean didn’t look too bad for wear. He looked tired, and very dirty. As if he’d spent the night in the dirt. The cut must be new, because Dean clearly had yet to have time to care for it, and Sam knows Dean’s not dumb enough to leave a wound like that open to the world unless he has no choice.

As Sam lifts his gun to shoot the wolf, Dean fires first, and the young man calls limp to the floor. Sam hurries to his brother, not caring that Dean’s senses are on high alert and he may in fact shoot Sam if he gets spooked.

Just as he expected, the pistol is in his face instantly. “Dean! Hey, it’s just me!” Sam shouts, swatting the gun out of Dean’s hands.

“Well, it took you long enough.” Dean said, clearly exhausted. He was panting like a dog, blacks circles under his eyes, and Sam can only assume Dean didn’t get a wink of sleep the night before.

“Are there any more out there?” Sam asked, digging into his backpack to grab gauze and pulling off his belt.

“No, that was the last one. Bastard got me pretty good.” Dean answered, gesturing to his leg.

“I think your femoral artery has been severed. This is gonna hurt.” Sam warned, as he wrapped his belt around Dean’s thigh just above the wound. Dean grit his teeth, and Sam took that as his ready. He tugged  _ hard _ on the loose end of the belt, and Dean groaned in agony as his face pulled up into a grimace. 

“Sorry.” Sam muttered, tying the belt off before moving to grab bandages.

“Is this you getting back at me for the time I had to dig that bullet out of you in the werewolf cabin?” Dean joked, trying to ignore the searing pain in his leg. Sam laughed despite the situation, helping to pull Dean to his feet.

“You’re damn right it is.” Sam joked back, letting Dean lean all of his weight on his brother. There was no way he was walking on that leg by himself.

“We’re going to the hospital.” Sam stated, leaving absolutely zero room for arguments. And surprisingly, Dean didn’t even try to argue.

Sam retraced his own footsteps all the way back to the car. A grueling trek for the both of them. Dean hadn’t slept in over 36 hours, his leg was torn apart, and he was starving. And Sam was practically carrying over two hundred pounds of muscle for nearly a mile.

Luckily, they finally reached the impala. Sam managed to get Dean to lay in the backseat, insisting he elevate his leg, which Dean responded to with a mumble about being babied. Meanwhile, Sam hopped in the driver seat and took off toward the hospital. 

Four hours, minor surgery, and 120 stitches later, and Dean was free to go, after excessive arguing with the doctor that he would be fine at home. Turned out Sam had been right, his femoral artery had been decimated. And when the wildlife service had gotten involved, Dean told them it was a mountain lion, and Sam backed his lie.

Thank goodness they left with a bottle of pain pills, and the second they got home Dean regaled his night of horror as if he were telling a ghost story to a twelve year old. Sam listened adamantly, wanting to know how Dean had managed to make his footprints disappear. However, when it got to that part of the story, Dean refused to share. Claiming that Sam could ‘know when he’s older’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s reference to ‘digging a bullet out of Sam ok a werewolf hunt’ is an allude to 11x18 Red Meat.


	6. Please...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Get it out”, No more, “Please stop”
> 
> TWs for this chapter: implied rape/noncon, rape/noncon elements, pedophilia, underage, clown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THE CHAPTER SUMMARY

“Alright. What’s going on with you?” Dean suddenly asked as he entered the hotel room.

Sam had been acting strange ever since Dean mentioned Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie. He’d been jumpy and wound up like a spring, and something told Dean this was more than some childhood fear. Sam wasn’t the jumpy kind. Sure, if Dean threw a chair at the wall Sam might flinch, but this was different. Sam couldn’t even brush past his brother without Sam acting as if he’d been electrocuted. Something was seriously wrong.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, not taking his eyes off his lore book. Dean couldn’t tell if he was avoiding the question or if he actually didn't know what the question meant.

“C’mon man. This is way bigger than some childhood phobia. You’re jumpy, you’re erratic, you won’t even go inside the damn place.” Dean pressed, pulling Sam’s book away from him. Sam had refused to enter Plucky’s from minute one of this job, and Dean was getting really worried.

“It’s nothing, Dean.” Sam insisted, grabbing his book back. This was definitely defensive action. Sam knew exactly what Dean was getting at and he’d do anything to avoid it. 

“It’s not nothing! Every time I even mention Plucky you…” Dean paused when Sam flinched slightly at the name. “...do that!”

“Dean, leave it alone. Please.” Sam asked, turning the page in his book. There was a hint of a beg in that ‘please’, and it was enough to throw Dean’s concern over the edge. 

“Sammy, please just talk to me. What’s going on? Cuz’ my gut is telling me something bad happened in a Plucky’s that I don’t know about. And it’s still driving you nuts.” Dean just wouldn’t let it go, and Sam didn’t know how to make him stop. When Dean set his mind on something, he could be stubborn as a mule.

“So what if it did? It was decades ago, just drop it. Please.” Sam begged, finally looking up at his brother. Dean took that as a yes, which only concerned him more. Sam was never this defensive. 

“No. We’re gonna talk about this.” Dean clearly wasn’t planning on letting Sam get out of this.

“Alright, y'know what? Fine. But you have to promise me you won’t freak out. No revenge-fueled hunts, no angry yelling, and no looking at me different. Got it?” Sam asked, staring at Dean intensely.

“Alright. Yeah, I promise.” Dean said, looking even more concerned now. His mind was filling all kinds of wretched stories into his thoughts and he could only pray that it wasn’t as bad as he thought.

“Washington. I was twelve. Dad was on a ghost hunt. Typical salt and burn. And you ditched me at the local Plucky’s to go have fun.” Sam started, and Dean noticed the way he was visibly uncomfortable telling this story.

“And you didn’t show up to pick me up. I found out later Dad had called you in on an emergency. So I stayed late at the joint. And at closing Plucky came over and told me they were closed. This old guy with a beer gut, smelled of tobacco and whiskey.” Sam said, fidgeting with his fingers on the table.

“So I got up to leave. And he said, ‘Hey kid. You can stay if you want.’ And I knew better than to stay with the creepy old guy so I kept walking. And he followed me. And he grabbed my arm and he spun me around to face him. And he said, ‘You really should stay.’” Sam continued, and Dean watched as his brother’s whole body tensed up.

“And I told him I really had to get home. But he didn’t care. So he grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder and carried me back inside. And we ended up in the storage closet.” Sam paused at that, taking a deep breath and chewing on his lip. Dean did  _ not _ like where this was going. It would seem his dark thoughts were more accurate than he thought. 

“And then what?” Dean asked, seeming to sense that Sam wasn’t planning to continue.

“C’mon Dean. You’re smart. Figure it out.” Sam muttered, running a hand through his hair. Dean didn’t respond, clearly trying to get Sam to finish the story. It seemed awful to pressure him to talk about something he clearly didn’t want to, but that was just how they got through life. If they didn’t talk about things, it ate them up.

“I fought him. I kicked him and I scratched him and I screamed my lungs out. Just hoping that someone,  _ anyone _ , a janitor maybe, would come and stop him. But no one came. And he had his fun, and then he let me go. But not without telling me that he knew you and Dad and the way we lived. He said, ‘If you tell anyone about this, I’ll call CPS and get you taken away from your brother forever.’” That was like a punch to the gut for Dean.

Sam kept this to himself his whole life because he was afraid someone would take him away from Dean.

“And I believed him. So I went back to the hotel and I went to bed. And I never said anything. Until now.” Sam finished, rubbing his face with his hands. He was clearly still upset by this story. His whole body was tensed up as he massaged his temples and pinched his eyes shut.

Dean’s brain was spiraling in a million directions. How had he let this happen? And how did Sam hide this from him all these years? It must have been tearing him up to keep this a secret.

“What did he do?” Dean asked. He didn’t want to know but he  _ had _ to know. Had to know just how badly he’d failed his little brother.

“Dean, come on man. You already know.” Sam said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. And yeah, he did already know. But he didn’t know enough.

“No, Sam, I mean… how bad was it?” He rephrased, refusing to break eye contact with his brother. Sam took another deep breath and stared at Dean for a second, as if deciding whether to answer.

“It was bad.” Sam finally admitted, breaking away from Dean’s face and looking back down at his hands.

“So, he…?” Dean trailed off, not wanting to say the word. That God awful word that he never in a million years would think he’d have to say. Especially about Sam.

Sam only nodded numbly, biting his lip and glancing up at Dean nervously to gauge his reaction. Dean closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, clearly trying to control his brotherly rage.

“You promised no angry yelling.” Sam reminded him quietly.

“I know. I’m not gonna yell.” Dean assured him, covering his mouth with his hand, his other clenched into a fist on the table. His whole body was tensed up and tight, and Sam was sure he could see the vein in Dean’s forehead pop out.

“Dean, listen. I’m fine. It was almost 20 years ago. Seriously, I’m okay. Just relax.” Sam insisted. He hadn’t seen Dean this angry in a long time.

Common knowledge was that Sam was Dean’s weak spot. Dean could control himself nearly every minute of the day. But when someone hurt his brother?

“I know that. But, God, if I could get my hands on him…” Dean muttered, turning away from the table to calm down.

“I know. But you don’t have to. I’m  _ fine. _ ” Sam pressed, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder to center him.

“Are you? Seriously, are you okay?” Dean asked, and despite the rage coursing through him, his voice was gentle as he looked back at his brother. Sam sighed lightly and nodded.

“Yeah, I mean. Mostly. It’s not something I’m ever gonna let go of, but I’ve dealt with it. It’s fine. I’m fine.” Sam answered, returning the eye contact. They’d never spoken about something like this before.

In fact, the both of them had been jokes about the topic because it was the easiest way to cope. Although something told Sam those jokes would be going away for a while.

It wasn’t a peaceful transition into a new topic, Sam clearly trying to change the subject by telling Dean what he’d figured out about the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry but this is all I could think about when I read the prompt and I’ve had this chapter stuck in my head for years.


	7. I’ve Got You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Support/Carrying/Enemy to Caretaker
> 
> TWs for this chapter: Bullet wounds, Guns (shots fired), blood, alcohol
> 
> As always, lemme know if I missed any!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all enjoy Day 7!

It wasn’t like this was new for them. Dean getting injured on a hunt, Sam having to rescue him even though he adamantly denied needing help. In fact, this wasn’t even the first time Dean had been shot in that exact spot. The bullet lodged in his left shoulder, the same place Meg had shot him all those years ago, and Sam, despite his current… situation… rushed to drag his brother out of the line of fire.

With a sharp order of “stay here” leaving zero room for argument, Sam headed back out to finish off the men. Dean reluctantly stayed put, not wanting to risk pissing off his brother. The two had been so on edge lately, another straw on the camel’s back was the last thing they needed.

In Dean’s defense, they were so on edge because Dean had recently discovered that his little brother had no soul. Among other, more traitorous things. Ever since Sam got back from hell he was acting… well, it was simplest to say he was a dick. And Dean hated it. Hated walking around with this soulless husk wearing Sam’s face, but somehow looking nothing like his brother.

Soulless Sam didn’t seem to be too fond of Dean either. He was acting as if Dean was this weight around his shoulders; something that was just in the way. And honestly? Dean was getting pretty damn sick of it. He knew logically none of this was Sam’s fault. As Sam had so eloquently explained, he literally couldn’t feel emotions anymore. His moral compass wasn’t only skewed, no, it had been completely thrown out the window.

Finally Sam returned, the shots having ceased, and he held his hand out to help Dean stand. Dean promptly ignored the offer, getting to his feet on his own with nothing more than a small grunt. The two walked back to the car in silence, Sam having nothing to say and Dean having far too much. 

When they finally reached the car, Dean climbed into the driver’s seat without a word, not wanting to give Sam a chance to lecture him about the ludicrousness of driving with a bullet in his shoulder. The drive home was nothing but more silence. Dean didn’t even turn on the radio. He could feel Sam glancing at him every few seconds, not with worry. More like a small child trying to gauge whether his dad was mad at him or not, even if he had no idea what Dean had to be mad about.

They pulled up in the motel parking lot, and in near perfect sync the brothers got out of the car and headed inside. Dean collapsed onto his bed in exhaustion, not even caring how bad his shoulder hurt, nor about how much blood was surely soaking the old bed sheets. Sam however, miraculously, did seem to care.

“Sit up.” Sam ordered passively, tossing the first aid kit onto the bed and grabbing a bottle of whiskey. Dean groaned in annoyance, but he knew better than anyone what an untreated bullet wound was like. And despite how little he wanted to let his brother play doctor, he definitely wanted an infection even less. So, Dean pulled the short sleeve of his tee up over his shoulder, grunting at the pain, as Sam sat down on the bed next to him.

“This is gonna hurt.” Sam warned, before pouring a bit of alcohol on the wound. Dean groaned, his face pulling up into a grimace as Sam applied pressure with a patch of gauze. He could feel the stray whiskey running down his side and soaking into his shirt.

“Why are you doing this, huh?” Dean asked, a little harsher than he meant to. But honestly with Sam the past few weeks it was up and then it was down. It was like living with a very temperamental cat. Dean could blink wrong and Sam would get frustrated.

“Because, you’re my brother, and I don’t want you to die.” Sam said, as if that was answer enough. And normally it would be, but not today.

“What happened to not being able to ‘feel it’?” Dean continued, wanting a real answer. He still didn’t understand what was going on in his brother’s head, and sometimes he really wanted to know. Sam sighed, not looking up from his hands as he tended to Dean’s wound.

“Dean, I may not have the ability to care about you anymore. But, I do remember how I used to feel. I remember thinking you were important and that I cared about you. My head knows you matter, and I have to help you. But my heart doesn’t seem to be able to keep up. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you die.” Sam seemed to be speaking honestly, which was a relief given how much new Sam tended to lie.

Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about that answer. At least he could sleep at night knowing this Sam probably wouldn’t kill him in his sleep. But, he also knew Sam would no longer put his life on the line for Dean. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was just odd. No longer was Dean the most important thing in Sam’s world. Now, it was Sam himself. They’d have to learn how to be around each other again in this new dynamic.

“So, you’re helping me, because you know that that’s what old you would’ve done. Not because you actually want to help me.” Dean clarified, honestly not even upset. He hopefully wouldn’t be dealing with this for much longer. Unbeknownst to Sam, he had arrangements made to get Sam’s soul back.

“Pretty much. Get some sleep.” Sam said, getting off the bed and heading to take a shower. Dean remained in his position staring at his phone. For days he’d been waiting for it to ring. Waiting for Bobby to get back to him on the best way to contact Death. So far, nothing.

By the time Sam got out of the shower Dean was asleep, laying on his uninjured shoulder and snoring like a rhino. Sam ignored him, although the back of his mind deemed it necessary to remind him that normally he loved when Dean snored. Before Sam lost his soul, whenever Dean was snoring and Sam woke up from a nightmare, or was simply feeling worried for his brother, he didn’t even have to check to know Dean was still breathing. But now, he didn’t even care.

  
That should bother him. He should be upset that he doesn’t care anymore. Because, again, he remembered what it felt like to care. He remembered when his mind was constantly screaming,  _ ‘Dean, Dean, Dean’ _ . Now it was finally quiet. And he should feel disturbed, but in reality he was simply enjoying the peace and quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of y’all have any super specific triggers that you want me to tag if they ever come up in the future so you can avoid them, please please comment them!


	8. Where Did Everybody Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Don’t say goodbye”/Abandoned/Isolation
> 
> TWs for this chapter: isolation, psychological torture, loneliness
> 
> As always, let me know if I missed any trigger warnings!

Sam felt his whole body freeze as the cell door slammed shut. The old man’s speech was cheesy at best, but that didn’t stop the terror pumping through his brain. How long would they leave him in this cell all alone? How much time did they have to waste? Was Dean in the same situation?

Sam’s first reaction was to worry. But he knew he just had to calm himself down. Cas and Mary would come for them soon enough. He wouldn’t have to bear this for very long. That comforted him as he stared at the wall, trying to force himself to dissociate.

Unbeknownst to literally nobody, Sam spent over a hundred years in Hell with Lucifer. He knew what it was like to live in a cage for days, weeks, even years. The difference though? Lucifer never left him alone. Not even for a second. When he wasn’t physically torturing his pet, he was boring him to death by regaling his time on Earth. Sam had heard the story of the snake in Eden dozens of times. One thing he noticed was that Lucifer framed all of his stories as though he were the victim, when in reality he was telling Sam about doing some of the worst things Sam could imagine.

And Sam had learned pretty quickly that the best way to get through his time down under was to not be there. Sometimes he found himself so far away that he forgot where he truly was, and when he woke up he’d be terrified all over again. But by the end of his time in hell, he could ‘zone out’ for days at a time. And he only hoped he could draw on that ability now.

It would seem he managed it, as the next time he blinked the lights were off, indicating it was night time. He could barely sleep, instead choosing to stare at the ceiling and worry about his family and friends. He hoped Cas had got Kelly out of there in time. And what about Mary? Last time he heard from her was over a month ago, and she was on a hunt.

Sleep finally caught up with him what felt like hours later, although he barely blinked before the lights were back on and a voice was shouting at him.

“Chow time!” The voice said, as he slid a tray of food into the room. Sam took it, moving to sit back on the bed. It did not look pleasant. In fact, it reminded him vividly of the meals they’d been given in prison back in 2007. Nevertheless, he ate it. And he  _ hated _ it.

The days piled on and on, and honestly Sam wasn’t even sure if they were turning the lights on at night or some random time of day to mess with him. All he knew was that whether the nights were authentic or not, he’d slept through nearly 40 of them. And he was getting really lonely. It would happen to anyone in his situation. However, he did pride himself on the fact that he had yet to go crazy. He couldn’t help but feel like some people surely would have at this point.

It was day 41 when Billie arrived. She agreed to help them, if they made a deal. And the brothers were far too desperate to refuse the deal. 

Sam didn’t see his brother again until day 42 when he woke up in what he could only assume was the morgue. And his brother was sitting  _ right there _ , alive and breathing. And it took every inch of self control Sam had not to tackle his brother in a bear hug. Not to just squeeze him until his arms fell asleep and just  _ touch  _ someone.

“You alright?” Sam asked, ignoring the burning pain in his throat as he spoke for the first time in six weeks. Dean jumped microscopically at the sound, but enough that Sam noticed.

“Yeah.” Dean responded, and Sam relished at the sound of a human voice. Dean didn’t seem to want to talk about the elephant in the room, so Sam didn’t mention it. They could talk about it later.

By the time they got back to the bunker, with Billie dead and one pissed off mother, Dean noticed that Sam was following him around like a puppy. Although if he was being honest he didn’t really mind. He didn’t feel much like being alone either. And that’s how the two of them ended up in the kitchen, Dean cooking as Sam sat at the table staring down at a book.

“You alright?” Dean asked, setting Sam’s dinner down in front of him, the both of them graciously appreciating real food.

“Yeah. You?” Sam responded, pushing his book aside to dig into Dean’s cooking.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” It would seem neither of them planned on being honest tonight.

Barely an hour later it looked as if the sun was coming up. Sam had no choice but to go to bed. However, being alone in his room was the last thing he wanted to do. So despite how little he ever wanted to do this, he popped some sleeping pills and collapsed in bed, thankfully falling asleep within an hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short and awful and I’m sorry lol


	9. For The Greater Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Take me instead”/“Run!”/Ritual Sacrifice
> 
> TWs for this chapter: Hunting humans, implied cannibalism, minor character death, humans in cages, guns (no shots fired), knife, mention of rabies
> 
> As always, let me know if I missed any!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of those tws might seem unnecessary but I like to be careful! I have a lot of “stupid” triggers and I want to try to avoid any uncommon ones as well as big ones.

Sam was no stranger to sacrifice. Hell, between Sam and Dean, they’d almost been the victims of nearly 10 sacrificial events. One time they were almost eaten by gods on Christmas. So really, Sam should be used to this by now. But could anyone ever get used to waking up in a cage in a disgusting and dark room?

The cell was barely 4 feet tall, not nearly high enough for Sam to stand, and a mere 3x3 feet long and wide. It was not a comfortable squeeze, as he couldn’t lay down or stand up. He could only sit back against the bars, his knees pulled in tight to his chest as he tried to get a good look around. It took a few minutes, but his eyes finally adjusted to the dark enough for him to find another identical cell a few feet away, someone about his size bundled up inside.

“Dean?” Sam called, wishing he could reach across the gap. The person stirred, before cussing sharply when they hit their head on the bars.

“Sam?” The person asked, confirming it to be Dean. He groaned as he shuffled into an upright position, clearly as happy about the cramped space as Sam was.

“Yeah. You alright?” Sam asked, turning as much as possible to face his brother. Dean pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, pulling it away to find blood. He must’ve gotten hit.

“I think so. You?” Dean returned, glancing over at Sam, who looked virtually unharmed.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Where are we?” Sam got as far forward as he could, trying to look properly around the room. There wasn’t much to see. Some knocked over buckets, some farmer gloves, and an empty wagon. Nothing useful.

“Smells like the country. You okay?” Dean said, watching his brother freeze and restart as he said that. 

“Sorry. Weirdest deja vu feeling.” Sam shook his head as if he was trying to clear the feeling from his head before he sat back down against the bars.

The two remained silent, both just silently thinking. It was hours before the barn door creaked open, light footsteps entering the room. Sam was nearly blinded by the light as it flickered to life, revealing the shadowy figure to be nothing more than a young farm girl. She looked  _ so familiar _ to the both of them, but neither one could place the face to a name.

“Mornin’, boys!” The girl cheered, dropping the hatchet she dragged in with her with a thud. Neither of them responded.

“Nice to see you again, Sam. Dean, you too.” She had a grin on her face, but both of them could sense the blinding rage hidden behind her bright smile.

“I’m sorry, do we know you?” Dean asked, barely a hint of politeness in the question. Her smile faltered barely, but enough that Sam noticed.

“I expect not. It’s been fifteen years, after all.” She said, crouching in front of Sam’s cell, making sure to look him in the eye.

“You,” she growled, fire burning in her eyes, “destroyed my family. And you don’t remember?”

She seemed hurt, as if Sam had personally offended her. But, he did remember her. He just couldn’t remember where he met her. His silence seemed to be an answer, as she clenched her teeth in rage.

“My name’s Missy. Missy Bender.” 

_ Oh _ .

That’s why this situation felt so familiar. Why deja vu had been turning over his stomach since the moment he woke up in this barn. Why he froze when Dean it ‘smelled like the country’. That’s exactly what Jenkins said the last time Sam was in this position.

“Shit.” Dean whispered, and Sam could only assume he’d come to the same conclusion.

“I do remember you.” Sam admitted, looking up at the girl. The last time he saw Missy she was maybe nine years old, covered in dirt and half starved. Now she was probably in her mid twenties, and she was clean, her hair neatly brushed and her teeth sparkling white.

“I should hope so. Now, I think you already know why you’re here?” Missy asked, pulling a sharp blade out of her boot. And yeah, Sam knew why he was there. So, he nodded.

“Look, Missy. I’m sorry about what happened to your family. But, you have to understand, it was us or them, okay? We didn’t have a choice.” Sam said, trying to calm her down. He knew she wouldn’t just let them go, but maybe he could distract her long enough for them to find a way to escape.

“Well then it should’ve been  _ you _ !” Missy screeched, slamming her fist into the bars. 

“You let everyone that I love die! And then you left me all alone to live without them! What kind of sick torture was that?!” She ranted, her fist tight around the hilt of the blade.

“Missy, we let you live because you were just a little girl. We thought you could be helped, be normal.” Dean interjected, trying to draw Missy’s attention off of Sam. She completely ignored him. It would seem Sam was the center of her anger. She dug around in her pocket, pulling a picture out and holding it in front of the bars.

It was the picture of Sam that the cop lady had given her.  _ ‘Have you seen this guy?’ _

“This is all I had! I always knew I would hunt you down and hit you just like daddy would’ve wanted. And that’s  _ exactly _ what we’re gonna do.” She snapped, crumpling the picture and tossing it over her shoulder as she pointed the tip of the blade towards Sam.

“I’m gonna let you go. And you’re gonna take this knife and you’re gonna run. And I’m going to  _ hunt you down _ and slit your throat faster than you can figure out which way’s north. And then, I’m gonna come back and I’m gonna gut your brother.” She growled, glaring daggers at Dean, practically daring him to challenge her.

“Missy.” Dean tried, but she ignored him, moving to unlock Sam’s cell. 

“Y’know I’m the one who killed your dad right?” Dean yelled, and that got her attention. She turned to face him, her face shaking with fury.

“What?” She asked, watching Dean suspiciously.

“Yeah, it was me. Sam only knocked out your brother. I’m the one who went back around and finished everyone off. Even dear old dad. I’m the one who shot him right between the eyes like the pig that he was.” Dean was lying. Sam knew that. It was the cop that killed Missy’s dad. Sam knew exactly what Dean was trying to do. If he could convince Missy that he killed her dad, not Sam, she’d want to kill him first. 

Missy looked  _ livid _ . She walked over to Dean’s door, pulling a pistol and pointing it at his face as she unlocked the door. She knew to keep a safe distance between her and Dean as he unfolded his limbs to get out of the cell.

“Take this.” She ordered, tossing her knife to Dean’s feet. He bent down to pick it up, never taking his eyes off of Missy.

“You know the rules. You run, I hunt. Now go, you have a five minute head start.” Dean took one last glance at Sam, offering him a small nod, before taking off out of the barn. Missy stood still, staring down at her watch as she tapped her foot impatiently.

“Missy, I don’t think you understand. My brother and I have been trained to hunt since we could speak. You will not find him out there, and even if you do, he’s probably hunting you. He will kill you if you make him.” Sam warned, hoping she would just listen.

“I don’t believe your jackass brother is a better hunter than me. I’ll find him. And when I do…” she trailed off, moving her eyes back down to her watch. Sam could tell the five minutes had passed as Missy shouted in excitement and sprinted out of the barn.

He waited anxiously for one of them to return, knowing logically it would be his brother, but his stomach twisting anxiously nonetheless. Finally, the barn door creaked open once again, and someone approached Sam’s cell. Dean watched as Sam’s face fell in relief when he spotted his brother.

“What? Did you doubt me?” Dean asked, a cocky grin on his face. He held the keys up in his hand in a show off gesture, before unlocking Sam’s door. Sam grunted as he struggled to untangle himself so he could stand up. His legs ached as he finally got the chance to move them.

“Missy?” Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

“Dead. I didn’t have a choice. She was like a rabid dog.” Dean told him, not seeming happy with the answer. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based off one of my favorite Supernatural Episodes!
> 
> For anyone wondering, it’s 1x15 “The Benders”.


	10. They Look So Pretty When They Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Blood loss/Internal bleeding/Trail of blood
> 
> TWs for this chapter: excessive amounts of blood, cuts, slit wrists, mentions of suicide, minor character death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not too proud of this chapter but this is another favorite episode of mine and I really didn’t have many other ideas. Happy day 10!

“He's waking up.” Kate hissed. Adam grinned as Sam opened his eyes, looking around the room. His gaze landed on his hand, up at the corner of the table, a tight rope around his wrist. The same went for his other hand and his ankles. 

There were also two tight straps of duct tape, one over his thighs and one over his chest, restricting his breathing. He struggled, already gasping for breath. He looked up at Kate who was sitting on the table next to his waist. She was playing with Sam’s silver knife, picking the dirt out from under her nails. 

“Silver. That's why none of the tests worked. You're not shapeshifters. You're ghouls.” He spit the last word, as if it was poison on his tongue. She turned to look at him. 

“You know, I find that term racist.” She commented, pointing the knife at him. 

“I should've known. It was the fresh kills that threw me. Ghouls don't usually go after the living. See you're just filthy scavengers, feeding off the dead. Taking the form of the last corpse you choked down.” Adam strolled into the room, a sly grin on his face. 

“And their thoughts. And their memories. Like Adam.” Kate chuckled. 

“Yeah well, we are what we eat.” She remarked sarcastically. 

“Monsters.” Sam growled. Kate grimaced, and slashed Sam’s arm with the blade. 

“Gah!” He cried out from the pain, and glared up at her. 

“You know, you throw that word around Sam but I don't think you really know what it means.” Adam reprimanded. 

“Our dad was a monster? Why? Because of what he ate? He never hurt anyone Sam. Well, not living anyway.” Adam added with a smirk. 

“No. He was no monster. But the thing that killed him was. A monster named John Winchester.” Kate sneered John’s name. 

“And for 20 years, we lived like rats.” Kate growled, slicing Sam’s arm again. Sam gasped from the pain. 

“Graveyard after graveyard, all that stinking flesh.” Adam said, his lips right next to Sam’s ear. 

“So then we thought, hey. Why not move up to fresher game?” Kate asked rhetorically. 

“And then started our revenge.” Adam said. 

“First, it was his cop friend. And then his slut. And then his son.” Kate said, gesturing to herself and Adam. 

“And I called John but, the son of a bitch was already dead.” Adam said, sighing. 

“So you'll suffice as a replacement.” Kate added

“We're gonna feed on you, nice and slow. Like we did with Adam.” Adam mocked. 

“Oh and by the way, he really was your brother. You should know that.” Kate whispered in Sam’s ear. She stood up straight, taking the blade and slashing a four inch cut along Sam’s forearm. 

Blood immediately gushed from the wound, dropping into the bowl below. Adam did the same on the other side. Sam felt his body drain of both blood and energy as cut after cut was made on his arms. He cried out a few times, struggling with the ropes. 

“Sam. The more you struggle, the faster you're gonna bleed out. So you might as well sit back and relax.” Adam teased. The tape over his chest was restricting his breathing and as his blood was heard dripping into the bowl, he felt himself grow lightheaded. 

“Hey!” Sam had never been so relieved to hear Dean’s voice in his life. Dean shot Adam in the chest, aiming at Kate. 

“Dean they're ghouls!” Sam shouted weakly. Dean hesitated for a second, racking his brain for a ‘how to’ on killing ghouls. He reached his hand up and shot Kate in the head. Blood spattered the wall, and her decapitated corpse fell to the ground, still twitching. 

“Which means headshots.” Dean reached to reload his gun, but was tackled to the ground by Adam. They wrestled in the next room, and Sam started to see black spots dance across his vision. 

He couldn't breathe and his body grew weaker and weaker as the blood drained from his veins. He vaguely registered the loud thumping sound as Dean beat Adam’s head with a trophy. The noise ceased and Sam wasted no time calling out for his brother. 

“Dean!” He shouted breathlessly with a grimace etched into his face. Dean immediately ran to Sam’s side, slicing the rope pinning his right hand. 

Sam moved his arm to his side with a loud groan, letting his head fall back onto the table. Dean sliced the other rope, and Sam felt the blood running down his hands now. 

“Chest.” He wheezed. Dean sawed the thick duct tape strap, and yanked it out of the way. Sam gasped, his lungs flooding with air. Dean grabbed some towels, and helped Sam sit up. 

“C'mon c'mon c'mon. Alright alright. Here we go.” He mumbled to himself. Sam groaned, and cried out shortly as Dean pressed the towels tightly to his arms, squeezing them together to stop the bleeding. 

“Thank you.” He gasped out, still out of breath. 

“That's what family’s for right? Keep pressure on that.” Dean said as he went to clean up the corpses. Sam winced as he held down the towels on his arms. It hurt like a bitch but he knew well enough what'd happen if he let go. 

Dean came back into the room, wincing at the blood now staining the previously clean towels. He untied Sam’s ankles, and cut the duct tape strap still over his thighs, and helped him hop down from the table he'd been laying on. Sam’s knees buckled, and Dean caught him, holding him up. 

“Think you can make it to the car?” Sam nodded, and Dean kept an arm around Sam’s waist as they walked, rather slowly, to the car. Dean opened the door and gently helped Sam in. 

“Don't get blood on the upholstery.” He joked. Sam smiled, which then turned into a grimace. 

“Hospital?” Dean asked. Sam nodded. 

“Hospital.” Dean ran around the car, climbing into the driver’s seat and making their way to the ER. 

“What are we gonna tell them?” Sam asked, finally having caught his breath. He was still dizzy from blood loss, but at least he could breathe. 

“We’ll tell them that you got jumped and they cut you up, trying to make it look like a suicide. Cuz if we don't say anything, we both know that's what they'll think. They'll think this was a suicide attempt.” Sam sighed. 

“Okay.” Dean helped him out of the car, and they walked through the emergency doors. 

“Excuse me. Emergency!” Dean shouted. A nurse glanced at him and her eyes widened. She sprinted over to them, inspecting Sam’s arms. She was small, about five feet tall. She had bold blue hair, and sweet brown eyes, and seemed a little out of her comfort zone. 

“Stay here. I'll go get a doctor.” She ran off into the other room, coming back with an older looking man, with slightly grey hair, and a lab coat. 

“What happened?” He asked as they led Sam to one of the rooms. 

“Someone jumped us in the street. I was unconscious and when I woke up he was sitting there bleeding with gashes all over his arms. I think they wanted it to look like a suicide.” The doctor nodded, removing the towels and going to work. Sam winced a few times, but for the most part kept his eyes shut. He was pale now, and sweating. 

A few hours later they were on their way out, the color having returned to Sam’s face, his arms covered in stitches. 

“I hate ghouls.” Sam grumbled as they climbed into the car. Dean chuckled. 

“Yeah I feel that. They're like vultures.” Sam sighed. 

“We should go back for Adam. Burn his body. He went down like a hunter, he deserves to go out like one.” Dean sighed too, but nodded, starting the car. 

“Poor kid. Glad Dad doesn't know.” Dean nodded absentmindedly, wondering how John would've reacted if he knew they got his son killed. 


	11. Psych 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Defiance/Struggling/Crying
> 
> TWs for this chapter: graphic depictions of violence, beatings, graphic burns, broken ribs, implied minor character death

Sam woke up groaning. There was a sharp, thudding pain in the right side of his head. As soon as he moved to feel for any blood, his hand was stopped by the rope pinning them together behind his back. The coarse material was digging into the skin of his wrists and if he struggled hard enough it’d make him bleed.

Looking around Sam found that his ankles were tied to the legs of the chair he was sitting in, forcing them to remain spread apart.

He could feel fabric pressing against his tongue. There was a ball of cloth stuffed into his mouth, with more fabric around his head to keep it there. It dug into the corners of his lips and he found himself biting into the material with frustration.

Sam turned his head, looking for any hints as to where he was. The room was mostly empty, save for the table full of silver tools glinting in the light. Examples being scalpels and pliers.

Despite his previous acknowledgement of the risk of rubbing his flesh raw, Sam found himself struggling against the tight ropes pinning him down. As he expected, he felt a burning pain flare up in his wrists.

The door across the room whines as it’s pulled open. Sam looks up at the entry. It’s a tall man, maybe even taller than Sam. His hair is dark brown and barely reaches his ears, his eyes a decent shade of green.

Sam finds himself staring at his captor. Something about him is so familiar, but Sam can’t put his finger on it.

The man walks right up to him, leaning down to meet Sam’s eyes. 

“I heard rumors that you were the greatest hunter in the whole wide world. That’s why I was so surprised you were so easy to capture. I mean really. All I had to do was imitate your brother and get close enough to knock your ass out.” The man grinned, inches away from Sam’s face. 

Sam tried to say,  _ ‘Where’s my brother?’ _ But all that came out was mumbling gibberish.

“If only I spoke that language, Samuel. Sadly I don’t. Therefore, I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that you’re wondering where Dean is. Don’t worry, Sammy. Dean is right next door. He’s fine, so far.” The man smirks, glancing over his table of tools.

Sam groans, leaning his head back against the support beam. They’d been down this road before. This guy, who Sam was now aware is a shapeshifter, was going to torture them, and Sam had no idea why. But then again, do monsters really need a reason?

“My name is Jason, by the way. And in a few minutes, I’m gonna go get your brother and bring him in here so he can watch me beat the shit out of you. Why? Because, you two are the Winchesters, and there’s a price on your heads.” Jason explained, walking back over to Sam’s chair.

“Set by my dear friend Crowley. Any monster who manages to capture the Winchesters, gets a lifetime supply of their diet. Now Crowley didn’t say we couldn’t have a little fun before I turn you over.” He says, trailing the tip of a scalpel down Sam’s cheek.

“Now, I’m going to go get your brother. Don’t go anywhere, not like you can anyway.” Jason leaves, and Sam waits anxiously for him to return.

A few minutes later the door opens, and Jason walks in, leading Dean behind him. Dean’s hands are tied behind his back and there’s duct tape covering his mouth.

He takes a moment to look over Sam, making sure he’s not hurt, as Jason roughly leads him over to the support beam to the right of where Sam is.

In less than a minute, Dean is sitting in the same position as Sam. 

“Here, lemme get rid of that.” Jason moves behind Sam to untie the cloth wrapped around his head, before pulling the ball of fabric out of his mouth, allowing Sam to lick the dryness from his lips.

Jason then walks back over to Dean and rips the duct tape from his lips. Dean winces, but altogether ignores him.

He walks back to the middle of the room, smiling at the two of them.

“Now, any questions?” Jason asks, glancing back and forth between Sam and Dean.

Neither of them speak.

“Well then, right to the point, I guess.” Jason hums, picking up a knife. “I’m gonna go easy on you to start. But don’t worry. It’ll only get worse.”

Jason makes his way over to Sam, gently running the blade along Sam’s jaw, making sure not to cut him. Sam closes his eyes, leaning away from the blade.

Moments later, there’s a squish sound, and Sam is crying out in pain. He looks down to find a large gash running down his forearm.

“Jason, I swear to god.” Dean growls, glaring daggers at their captor. Jason ignores him, continuing to cut Sam’s arm. He’s careful not to go too deep.

When he was satisfied, he dropped the bloodied scalpel back on the table. The next item he picks up simply looks like a metal stick. But Sam knows exactly what it is, and he’s sure Dean does too.

Jason flicks the taser on and off, letting the electricity crackle for a few seconds at a time. He walks up to Dean, leaning down to look him in the eye.

“I’m going to deeply,  _ deeply _ enjoy this.” Jason says, holding the taser in front of his face.

“You know what? I think I will too.” Dean snaps, a sarcastic smile on his face. Jason takes this as a challenge. He lets the taser rest against Dean’s exposed forearm for a second, looking him in the eye.

When he does turn it on, Dean reacts immediately. His whole body seizes up and he jerks in his chair. Jason stops, letting Dean take a breath, and then he goes in again. This continues for almost ten minutes, and Sam swears he can hear Dean’s speedy heartbeat.

“Jason, stop!” Sam shouts, waiting for their captor to pay attention to him.

“What was that Sammy? I couldn’t hear you.” The man seems so happy, it makes Sam’s stomach roll.

“I said stop! What’s the point of all of this? You know Crowley is only gonna do worse when he gets his hands on us. You trying to kill us before you can collect your reward?” Sam is really only trying to take Jason’s attention away from Dean. His brother is panting heavily, sweat pouring down his face. 

Jason turns, walking over to Sam. He gets close enough to Sam’s face that he can smell the man’s breath. “Listen to me. I'm going to do whatever I want to both of you. And if you question me again, if you even speak again without permission, I will peel all the skin off your face. Understand?”

Sam doesn’t respond, which earns him a hard punch in the stomach. He jerks forward, feeling his breath rush out of his lungs. “Don’t make me hurt you more than I have to.”

That’s when Jason picks up the baseball bat.

“Would you like to see what happens when you talk back to me?” Jason asks, making his way back over to Sam, spinning the metal bat in his hand.

Sam sits up in his chair, steeling himself. A threatening glare forms deep in Dean’s eyes, and Sam tries his best to ignore the fact that his brother if going to have to watch this.

With his arms pulled tightly behind him by the rope, Sam’s chest and stomach are on wide display, and Jason takes full advantage. He swings the bat quickly, the metal slamming into the middle of Sam’s chest, no doubt bruising his ribs.

Sam feels all the air rush out of his lungs with a whoosh sound, and he leans as far forward as he can to try to catch his breath. 

Dean is shouting in the background but Sam continues to ignore him.

Another hit comes, this time right into Sam’s gut, and he swears this is what it feels like to be hit by a bus. A deep, throbbing pain is forming underneath the bruises that Sam is sure he’ll have by morning. 

It’s a few minutes before Sam feels a rib break.

Jason swings again, the metal slamming directly into Sam’s ribs just above where his heart is, and there’s an audible  _ snapping _ sound. Sam cries out like a wounded animal, his breathing becoming very labored. Jason starts laughing hysterically.

This continues for another ten minutes, and by the end Sam is down three ribs and his chest is burning, and he’s sure he can feel a stray tear rolling down his face. Jason drops the bat to the floor, a loud metallic clanging echoing throughout the room, and then he leaves, still laughing quietly.

“-am? Sammy, look at me.” Dean calls, and Sam finds the strength to lift his head, making eye contact with his brother. Dean’s face is flooded with concern, but Sam can see the lividity behind it. Dean is furious.

“How many?” Dean asks, and Sam struggles to remember. His best guess is three, but there’s no way for him to be sure.

“I think three.” Sam’s voice is breathy, and there’s an audible wheeze in his breathing.

“Alright. Just breathe slowly okay? No passing out.” Dean orders gently, not taking his eyes off the exhausted look on Sam’s face.

“Ok.” Sam whispers, leaning his head back to try and breathe deeply.

Dean keeps talking, making sure Sam stays awake, and the two discuss several different escape plans, most of them being shot down by Sam.

Jason doesn’t return for over three hours.

“How are you feeling, Sammy?” He asks, crouching in front of Sam to look him in the eye.

“Just peachy.” Sam’s voice has finally regained its steady strength, and his breathing seems to have evened out, but Dean is sure he’s still in immense pain.

“Good. I need you alert for this next part.” Jason is particularly cheery today, and Sam worries about the implications behind their captor’s mood.

The shifter picks up a blowtorch, and Sam is reminded of Antonia Bevelle. It’s not a memory he cares to revisit often. Dean is yelling now. A string of threats that Sam barely has the brain power to decipher because he’s too busy trying not to panic.

Ms. Watt burning his foot had been the most intense pain Sam had ever felt on Earth. At least the most intense pain that wasn’t supernatural. Having your soul touched by an angel and having your soul stuffed back into your body a horseman weren’t much fun either.

Jason approached Sam with the blowtorch, a grin spreading across his face.

“I think you’re gonna love this.” Jason says, giving Dean a wink. The shifter crouches in front of Sam, the blowtorch inches away from his chest. Sam clenched his teeth, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

He heard it before he felt it. The whoosh of the flame flickering to life, the gasoline smell filling the room. But then he  _ did _ feel it. The excruciating burning sensation spread across the left half of his chest and Sam screamed.

His vision went white as the fire scorched his flesh, and when it was over, Sam nearly fainted on the spot. His ears were ringing and his chest hurt so bad that he could barely breathe. 

Jason leaves again, and Dean directs all his attention towards Sam.

“Sammy. Sam, can you hear me?” Dean asks, and Sam ignores him.

Sam didn’t use this term lightly, but god did he feel like hell. The throbbing sensation in his chest only caused the burns to sting more, and he was groaning weakly as he tried to take deep breaths.

“I got it. I’m okay.” Sam gasps, and the tugging sensation of his arms being pinned tightly behind him was only making it worse.

Dean continued to talk to him, forcing Sam to remain on earth. But his brain was spiraling at 100 miles an hour. He couldn’t help but feel like he was back in that farmhouse. Back with the two British women who tortured him for three days.

Any minute now he was expecting a freezing shower or a knuckle buster to smash into his face.

“Not that I’m complaining, but why is he only hurting me?” Sam asks when he can finally breathe again.

“I don’t know. And it’s starting to piss me off. But Cass is gonna find us and I’m gonna kill this bastard.” Dean growls, still struggling with the ropes holding him to the chair.

This time they’re left alone long enough for the brothers to actually get some sleep. Although Sam is woken up several times throughout the night by searing pain in his chest.

Sam considered this a fourth degree burn, seeing as he can feel the fire deep in his chest muscles. With that, on top of at least three broken ribs, his chest felt like a real party right now.

With the sun coming through the single window behind him, Dean woke up. His first action was to check on Sam, who still wasn’t sure he wouldn’t pass out any minute.

The pain was excruciating, even 16 hours later. Sam was begging for them to get home so Cass could heal him and this could all go away.

Jason joined them a few minutes later, seeming chipper as ever.

“Morning, boys! How are we today?” He asks, giving them a happy grin.

“We’re plotting your murder.” Dean quips, jerking in his seat, wishing he could tear out Jason’s throat.

“That’s not very nice, Dean.” Jason says, his mouth melting into a pouty face.

The frown disappears, and before Sam even notices he’s moving there’s a rough force slamming into the side of his jaw and his head is snapping to the right. He tastes blood, and he leans forward as much as he can to spit it out on the ground.

“Jason, I want you to listen to me. We will get out of here. And if you touch him one more time, I will take you apart.” Dean growls, giving Jason a deadly glare. Sam almost smiles.

Growing up he got really annoyed every time Dean got all protective. Or as Sam calls it, big bro mode. But as they got older Sam started to appreciate always having someone that had his back.

He didn’t need protection. He was an adult and he could take care of himself, but it was nice to have somebody that cares enough to ignore that. Especially when a situation comes around where Sam actually needs the help.

“Dean, Dean, Dean. Don’t you get it? By the time you two escape, I’ll be long gone, and Crowley will be on his way.” Jason reminds them, and to be honest, Sam had completely forgotten about that whole part of this.

That’s when the confusion hit him. Crowley would never put a hit out on Sam and Dean.  _ Especially _ not on Dean. Crowley and the brothers were thick as thieves these days. So clearly this shifter was given false information.

“Good luck with that Jason. Crowley adores us. He’s gonna kill you the minute he finds out about this.” Sam says, a smirk on his face.

“You’re lying. Crowley could never be friends with humans. Much less hunters.” Jason insists, spinning a scalpel in his fingers.

“Oh yeah? Call him and find out for yourself.” Dean snaps, seeing where Sam is going with this. If Crowley finds out the brothers are being held and tortured, he’ll pop right in and kill Jason. This was their new escape plan.

“I will!” Jason shouts, storming out of the room.

They wait for over an hour for Jason to return. But he’s not who comes strolling through the door.

“Afternoon boys.” Crowley smiles, already moving to free Dean.

Dean hurries straight to Sam, trying his best not to jar Sam’s wounds as he frees his wrists.

Sam groans as he pulls his hands forward into his lap. The movement tugs unpleasantly at the massive burn on his chest, and Dean moves to help his brother stand up.

“Thanks Crowley. Any chance you can teleport us back to the bunker?” Dean asks, wincing at the grimace etched into Sam’s features.

“I can’t get you in, but I can get you close.” Crowley obliges.

Within seconds they are standing on the road outside the bunker, and Dean is thank Crowley once again before leading Sam inside.

“Cass!” He shouts as soon as they pass through the front door. The angel meets them at the bottom of the stairs.

“Where have you been?!” He asks, helping Dean walk Sam over to the table in the middle of the room.

“Long story.” Dean says, and Sam cries out as he lowers himself into a chair.

Castiel places a hand on Sam’s forehead, and the wounds slowly dissipate into nothing.

Sam sits up quickly, his hands flying to his chest.

“Thanks!” He says, patting Castiel’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the ending is a bit too sudden but I got stuck. Anyway, hope y’all enjoyed!


	12. I Think I’ve Broken Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Broken down/Broken bones/Broken trust
> 
> TWs for this chapter: excessive amounts of blood, graphic depictions of violence, bear traps, emergency rooms, drugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with all my writings, the end starts to fall apart a little. But I’m pretty happy with the rest. Please comment if you have a minute. I’ll be happy to receive praise or even constrictive criticism!

For Sam and Dean, being lost in the woods wasn’t exactly a new experience. In fact, this was probably the tenth time. Although, the being lost part was new. Usually, they were on top of their game getting out of the woods. Last time this happened they even had a damn map. This time, they didn’t have a map. One of them didn’t even have the ability to walk. 

The impala had broken down on the side of a highway that stretched through thousands of acres of uninhabitable woods. Despite his years of experience with cars,  _ that _ car specifically, Dean had absolutely no idea why the car stopped. Which caused an odd feeling in his gut.

After about ten minutes of trying to get the impala started again, Sam pointed out the plume of smoke rising high above the trees in the distance. Both of them knew that it wasn’t possible to live in these woods, but you could easily camp there for a night or two. And camping means they surely have a vehicle or a satellite phone.

Dean was hesitant to abandon his baby on the side of the road, but they didn’t really have any other choices. So, begrudgingly, Dean followed Sam into the woods. Luckily, the two of them knew woods better than anyone. Sam was best at keeping directions in mind, making sure they didn’t walk in circles. Meanwhile, Dean focused all of his attention on the surrounding area, making sure they were alone.

It was a little over a mile into the conglomerate of trees that things changed. Dean, still holding his gun in both hands, was looking left and right for any signs of life, while Sam focused on keeping them headed towards the plume, which was only getting higher with time, when suddenly a loud, metallic  _ snap _ burst through the silence.

The snap was instantly followed by a loud scream, and the large presence beside Dean vanished. His brain started blaring red alert as he turned to find his brother. It took an embarrassingly long second for him to look down, finding Sam lying on his back on the floor, his hands gripping tightly onto a metal contraption.

_ Bear trap _ , Dean’s mind supplied, as he dropped to the floor beside Sam.

“Alright, just slow down. You have to sit still, Sammy. You know just as well as I do the more you move the tighter it’ll get. I got this.” Dean assured his brother, gently pushing Sam’s hands out of the way. The sharp metal teeth of the trap were embedded entirely within the meat of Sam’s calf, and as Dean watched the gratuitous amount of blood drench Sam’s show and soak into the dirt, and Dean could only imagine how excruciating this was.

“Broken?” Dean asked, leaning forward to study the mechanism, hoping he wouldn’t have to pry the jaws apart with his hands. Sam knew what that question meant.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Sam panted, his face pulled up in a grimace as he gripped handfuls of leaves to distract himself, as Dean brought himself back to everything his dad told him about bear traps.

_ Bear traps consist of two steel jaws, two leaf springs and a trigger in the middle, usually a round pan. C-clamps are needed to set and open up the trap. To open it, push down on both springs at once. _

“Okay. This might hurt, I’ll be quick.” Dean warned, placing both hands on each spring. Sam nodded, and Dean shoved down onto the springs with all of his weight. All of the tension released from the jaws instantly, enough for Sam to pull them open and slip his leg out.

He gasped at the movement, pulling his leg out of the way of the trap and close to his body. Dean gently let the jaws close, before shoving the trap away from his brother.

“Let me see.” Dean ordered, shuffling closer to his brother. Sam moved his hands out of the way, letting Dean inspect the bloody holes punched through his leg.

“Alright, we’ll wrap it, and then we’ll hang out for a bit.” Dean decided, digging through his backpack to grab his extra long sleeve shirt.

“Dean, we can’t stay here. We have to get to those campers.” Sam argued, already moving to stand up.

“Sammy, sit down. Just a couple minutes, okay? You’re not walking on that leg.” Dean practically begged, knowing full well Sam wasn’t making it to the smoke with that wound. Sam begrudgingly sat back down, letting Dean tend to his leg.

It was a good half hour later that Dean agreed they needed to get moving. However, barely even a second into walking Sam shouted, falling heavily into his brother’s side.

“Broken?” Dean asked again, easily catching his much taller brother.

“Oh yeah. Definitely.” Sam admitted, and the two situated themselves so that Dean could help Sam hobble towards the plume of smoke. Consequently, what looked like a ten minute walk took nearly an hour. Nevertheless, they finally reached the campfire, thankfully encircled by two men and two women roasting hotdogs on long sticks.

“Hey!” Dean called, catching their attention immediately. One of the women looked absolutely terrified, hiding behind what Dean assumed was her husband.

“My brother’s hurt. Do you have a working phone?” Dean asked, speaking directly to the man who’d stepped forward. They seemed to catch a lucky break that neither of the men had a gun.

“Yeah, Bill, where’s the sat phone?” The other woman asked, shuffling through the duffel bag next to her. The first woman seemed to have calmed down, cautiously walking over to Sam and Dean.

“What happened?” She asked, seeming genuinely concerned.

“Stepped in a bear trap.” Sam smiled, knowing this would make a great story for these people.

“What the hell is a bear trap doing out here?” Bill asked, tossing a backpack to the nice woman. 

“I’m a nurse. Can I help?” She asked, somehow knowing it was Dean who she needed to convince. He hesitated, before he nodded, knowing Sam needed the help.

Dean helped Sam hobble over to one of the logs the group had been sitting on. “Sit.”

“I’m Sue. What’s your name?” The nurse asked, pulling a first aid kit out of her bag.

“I’m Sam, this is my brother, Dean.” Sam said, not missing the way Dean hovered anxiously. The other woman finally found the satellite phone, announcing she was going to call the forest service.

“This is my husband Jared, my sister Maggie, and her husband Bill. We come out here every year for a trip, and boy are you lucky you came across us.” Sue told them, a warm smile on her face.

“They’ll be here in a few hours. Susie, you got this?” Maggie asked, sitting on the opposite log and watching her sister tend to Sam’s leg.

“For now, yeah. You’ll need to go to the hospital in the morning though.” Sue said, not even looking up to answer the question.

The next few hours Sam and Dean were well fed, and even given the option to rest in their tent, which they politely declined. Sue seemed to be thrilled to have someone to take care of, and Sam got the vibe that her kids had grown up and moved out. Jared took the liberty of pointing out on a map where the brothers had found themselves, as Maggie and Bill stayed in the bed of the truck snuggling.

By the time the forest ranger arrived, he hurried over with his flashlight, calling for Maggie. “You the one who called?” He asked when she made herself known.

“Yes. This young man stepped in a bear trap, he needs to get to a hospital.” Maggie told the ranger, gesturing to Sam.

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I ain’t seen this before. There’s damn too many of those traps out there, and folks like you step on them every few weeks.” The ranger told them, seeming frustrated.

“Our car is on the road a few miles that way,” Dean said, pointing east towards the highway. “If we go with you to the hospital can you get a tow truck to pick it up?”

“Oh, you betcha. Let’s get your brother in the truck and we’ll head out.” The ranger assured them, nodding his hat at the two women in the group as Dean pulled Sam to his feet again.

“Hey, we can’t thank you enough.” Dean said, shaking Sue’s hand.

“Oh, no worries darling. Just take care of that brother of yours, alright?” Sue ordered, smiling warmly at Sam and Dean.

Dean managed to get Sam into the backseat of the ranger’s truck, climbing in next to him as the ranger got in the driver seat.

“So, what are you boys doing in the middle of Minnesota with no camping gear?” The ranger asked, looking up at Dean in the rear view mirror.

“We were on our way home, just passing through. We live in Kansas. Came up to visit relatives up near the border.” Sometimes Sam was concerned by how easily Dean could lie.

“Oh, that’s nice. Always wanted to visit Kansas.” The three went silent after that. Sam was staring out the window, as Dean watched the road through the windshield, glancing worriedly at Sam every few minutes.

It was about an hour before they reached the local hospital, just outside the limits of the forest, and Dean and the ranger walked Sam through the emergency doors.

“Hey, listen. Thanks so much for all your help.” Sam said, leaning heavily into his brother's side. 

“Oh, you betcha. Always happy to help. Stay safe, you two.” The ranger said, before climbing back into his truck and heading back into the forest.

It was another hour before they were approached by a nurse, and Dean was forced to begrudgingly let go of his brother as he was led away by the nurse. Sam returned thirty minutes later with a cast and a pair of crutches, a stupid and loopy grin on his face.

“What’d they give you?” Dean asked, recognizing his brother’s loopy expression.

“I don’t know, man.” Sam chuckled, and Dean smiled warmly. It was nice to see his brother happy. 

Unfortunately, they had to call a cab to get them to a motel as the car was still somewhere miles away. By the time they got to the motel, Sam went straight to bed, ignoring Dean’s hammering about how dirty he was.


	13. Breathe In, Breathe Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Delayed drowning/Chemical pneumonia/Oxygen Mask
> 
> TWs for this chapter: Buried alive, suffocation, near death experience, drugged Sam Winchester
> 
> Lemme know if i missed anything as always!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter I’ve been meaning to write for a while and today’s prompt just gave me the perfect opportunity!

It was the dirt in his eye that woke him up. He instinctively reached up to rub at his eye, his hand hitting two differently angled slabs of wood on the way there. Although he was too disoriented to really question that yet. His other hand fumbled around his assorted pockets searching for his phone. Finally he felt it, pulling it back up and towards his face.

It took only moments to turn the flashlight on, and despite what was most likely way too many drugs pumping through his veins, the concussion he could feel in the back of his head, and the exhaustion that made him feel like he was sinking, his stomach dropped.

He was lying on his back on something hard, and feeling around he told himself it was more wood. Mere inches to his left and right was wood. And if he flattened himself as much as he could there was yet another slab of wood just inches away from his nose. Reaching out with his feet, he found wood at the far end, and behind his head.

Panic set in, and he felt his lungs squeeze tight enough that he couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t hyperventilated in years, and he’d forgotten how painful it was. It was like someone was sitting on his chest. And he couldn’t control it.

“Dean!” He shouted, knowing it was useless. No one would hear him from down there.

“Down here…” He whispered, the terror suddenly clenching onto his heart. He was in a coffin. Underground. Buried.

Honestly, Sam had never even considered this a possibility. Sure, it happened to Dean once, but that was a completely different situation.

Back in 2009 when Dean had come back from hell he’d woken up in his coffin. He’d dug himself out. The problem being that that box was loose and barely held together by rusted nails.

From his initial inspection this box was much sturdier, held together by something strong. Of course, he couldn’t hurt anything by trying.

The panic was elevating his adrenaline by tenfold, so there would be no better time to try to break his way out of here. His first instinct was to slam his palms into the ceiling as hard as he could. That, of course, did nothing. Next was fists, but he got the same result.

Now the panic was really starting to hit him. He was trapped in this box with no way to rescue himself. Now, Sam had complete and utter faith in his brother. But he couldn’t help thinking about the reality of the situation.

He could be literally anywhere on earth right now. The phone has no signal and could run out of battery life any minute. He has no other light with him. Even if Dean miraculously managed to find him on time, it would take hours to dig a grave all by himself. Which means Sam could suffocate to death with his brother standing on top of him.

His body suddenly went cold, like ice water had been poured down his shirt. This was  _ not _ how Sam wanted to die. He wanted to die peacefully, maybe in his sleep, or maybe something he’d never see coming. All he ever cared about was that it came suddenly and he never saw it coming. But now he was going to slowly suffocate to death, terrified and in pain.

Sam knew what it felt like to run out of air. Back when the British men of letters had brainwashed Mary and reversed all the air vents in the bunker, he’d experienced it first hand. And it was awful. By the end he couldn’t even stand up and his lungs were  _ screaming _ at him. Luckily, Dean had managed to get outside and turn the power back on.

Sam fervently doubted that Dean would be able to pull this one off. Sam didn’t even know who’d put him in there. The first question he’d ask the victim’s family would be, “Did ___ have any enemies?” The answer of course being, “Yes. Hundreds.”

Did Sam have any enemies? Try any monster on planet earth. Half the hunters in America, every demon, almost every angel, and unfortunately, god himself. Any of them could have put him in that box.

The problem with hyperventilating where he was, was that he didn’t have the oxygen to waste. So he dropped his phone and placed his hands over his mouth. As a kid, Dean had taught him that breathing through only your nose can stop hyperventilation. It took three minutes and he almost passed out, but finally he felt his body relax and his breathing return to normal.

Now all he had to do was avoid another panic attack. God, he wished he had a measuring tape. For some ridiculous reason Sam thought if he could give himself a time table it would help him relax. Maybe he’d get lucky and have more time than he’s guessing. So he’d have to estimate. 

The average casket measures 84 by 28 by 23 inches, so its total volume is 54.096 cubic inches, or 886 liters. And the average volume of a human body is 66 liters. That leaves 820 liters of air, one-fifth of which (164 liters) is oxygen. If a trapped person consumes 0.5 liters of oxygen per minute, it would take almost 5 and a half hours before all the oxygen in the coffin was consumed.

Well he got lucky. That was more time than he’d guessed. 5 ½ hours. That was still almost nothing. That wasn’t even enough time to drive from LA to San Francisco. Unless you’re Dean and you drive 100 miles per hour.

His thoughts always strayed back to his brother in times like these. Suddenly he wasn’t worried about himself anymore, he was worried about Dean. What would it do to Dean to finally find Sam’s  _ coffin _ , dig it up, and see a pale-blue, lifeless corpse?

The word  _ coffin _ wouldn’t stop bouncing around in Sam’s head like a frantic fly caught in a jar. He swore he heard it echo. Coffins are meant for dead people. No one is supposed to know what it feels like to be inside of a coffin. And yet, both Dean and Sam now knew all too well.

How does something this rare and random happen to two members of the same family? That’s just a statistical anomaly. So, to distract himself, Sam did the math to find out the actual percent chance of that happening.

But he could only distract himself for so long. If his memory was correct, he’d gotten a text, mere seconds before he’d been hit over the head. Which meant he could estimate about how long he’d been in the coffin by checking the time stamps. But he didn’t want to.

_ “Sammy. Meet me at the motel room later. I think I found something.” -9:23pm _

Looking up towards the top of the screen, it was 11:14pm. That meant he only had three hours and seven minutes.  _ Approximately. _ He really wished he’d stop having epiphanies and realizations, because the panic was back. He used the nose trick a second time to calm himself down again.

_ Dean’s gonna find me, _ he thought.  _ He always does. _

Sam wasn’t always the biggest fan of small spaces. Spending 180 years in a cage will do that to a guy. It wasn’t necessarily that he was claustrophobic. As long as the small space had an easy escape or obvious exit, he was perfectly fine. But being locked in a box, presumably six feet underground did not fall under that category and he was  _ very _ uncomfortable.

The panic was constantly on the edge of erupting, like a very temperamental cat. If he made even one wrong move or thought it would burst and he’d start hyperventilating again. Not to mention that he felt a very strong urge to cry. Although he likes to think that was from the dirt in his eye and not the flashback he was having that could only be equated to PTSD.

Sam was no stranger to trauma. It’d been delivered to him since he was a baby. But some traumas are different from others. And Sam’s time in hell was one of the different ones. He never talked about it much. In fact, he never talked about it at all. Dean had gotten snippets over the years from Sam’s nightmare mumbling, but nothing concrete was ever offered.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share with his brother. Dean had been brave enough to share his hell experiences and Sam wanted to return the favor. The problem was that he wasn’t sure he  _ could _ . The thought of speaking aloud any of what Lucifer had done to him made him sick to his stomach.

And now… now he was reliving one of Lucifer’s favorite tortures in real time, on what was supposed to be the safety of the real world.

After two years in hell, Lucifer seemed to have gotten bored of run of the mill torture. Digging Sam’s ribs out of his chest and stabbing them into his neck just wasn’t entertaining enough apparently. Or maybe he just got sick of looking at Sam’s face.

Either way, he had locked Sam in a box and left him in there for over a year. That was one of the hell memories that Sam usually  _ refused _ to visit. But now he was forced to visit that memory.

If the math explaining how long he had left to live wasn’t enough to make him panic until he passed out, the traumatic flashback sure was.

It was nearly five minutes of coughing and desperate gasps for air later that darkness thankfully overtook him.

————————————————————————

Waking up the second time was somehow worse than the first. To wake up and find yourself in a bad situation is one thing. But he’d been grateful that he passed out, hoping that when he woke up again he’d be free and safe.

The disappointment was crushing. And he knew he had to stop this panic attack before it could happen, so he did the only thing he could. He started humming Metallica. To be specific, he was humming  _ ‘Some Kind of Monster’ _ . Dean once did the same when he was scared on the plane that was infested by a demon.

Finally, something that could make Sam smile. To think that when they took that plane they had no clue about demons. Had never even seen one before. And look at them now. Shockingly, the song actually did calm him down. Which he’d take as a win. Not like he was getting a lot of those today.

Steeling himself, he picked up the phone.

1:47

Oh god. That meant he only had an hour and thirteen minutes left for Dean to find him. If that was even enough time to dig a grave. Not to mention the battery was at 2%. Which meant any minute now he’d be left in the dark.

_ “Stop panicking. Stop panicking. Stop panicking.” _

Luckily, for a second time, the song calmed his nerves and allowed him to breathe slowly. Although, he had a feeling this was gonna be another mystery spot situation. To this day he still couldn’t listen to ‘Heat of the Moment’.

There were moments like this. Moments in Sam’s life where he had to call upon the one thing he could. His faith in his brother. He had to believe that Dean could defy the odds and make it in time. He had to believe that Dean could stop time if he had to.

But he had to admit. He could feel it. The air. How thin it was. He was starting to feel lightheaded, and he was sure that if he tried to stand he’d fall over. It was just like the bunker all over again.

It had to be one of the worst physical sensations he’d ever experienced. Running out of air. Choking was one thing. Choking was quick and usually lasted mere seconds. Suffocating was so much worse. It’s like being choked for hours on end. The pain and fear are dragged out. It was pure torture. And Sam  _ hated _ it.

Suddenly the earth began to rumble. Like an earthquake but smaller. And there was the quiet sound of an engine fading into the distance as the earth stilled.

Was he under a road? Cars were… cars!

“Hey! Please! I’m down here!” He knew it was pointless, he wasn’t stupid. But he couldn’t help it. 

“Please somebody help me!”

Now  _ this _ was torture. He was dying slowly and painfully, as civilians passed right over his head with no clue he was there. God, did it hurt.

With a heavy sigh he dropped his head and hands back onto the wood, forcing himself to keep calm. He was only wasting air. He had to focus on breathing but the last thing he wanted to think about in that moment was breathing.

_ Dean will come _ .

He could hear how shallow his breaths were becoming. How weak his voice sounded. He could feel the energy slipping from his limbs and suddenly it was an Olympic feat just to lift his arm. Maybe he’d get lucky and he’d fall asleep again.

————————————————————————

Sam woke up to  _ pain _ . His lungs were  _ burning _ and his breaths were shallow and wheezy at best. Looking at the clock he found it was 2:48am. He was out of time. He was dying and he could  _ feel it _ .

Hyperventilation kicked in once more, but there was no air for him to desperately suck in, so he only found himself coughing hysterically. He imagined this is what an asthma attack felt like. 

This was it. He was dying. Dean would arrive too late, being forced to dig up his brother’s body if only to convince himself Sam was dead.

_ Thud. Thud _ .

Great. Now he was hallucinating. His mind offering him one last act of cruelty. Letting him think he’s been rescued. But the thuds just kept coming. Then there was a sudden and sharp crack of metal against wood, and Sam felt the coffin shiver against the attack.

“Son of a bitch.” Came the muffled voice from above.

_ Dean. _

“Dean!” Sam tried, only to wheeze and cough some more. The sounds of someone desperately shoveling dirt out of the way was the only thing Sam had to cling to as he felt himself start to fall asleep again.

“Sammy!” Dean yelled, and the lid rattled as dirt-caked fingers scrambled to rip it open. The hinges snapped rhythmically, and the sun broke through the sides of the now loose lid.

Sam wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. But he could barely hold his eyes open. The sliver of an opening was so thin. Air was sleeping through but not enough that Sam could even feel it.

Finally the lid was ripped up and away, being thrown into the woods on the side of the dirt road.

“Sammy!” Dean yelled again, gripping Sam’s shoulders almost painfully and shaking him gently. “Sammy, can you hear me?”

Sam could tell that he had stopped breathing. His chest had frozen still and his fingers were starting to feel numb. That is, until a pair of hands balled into a fist slammed down  _ hard _ in the middle of Sam’s sternum, just above his lungs.

He jolted upright, nearly head butting his brother, gasping in the biggest breath he could hold, not even caring how badly it hurt. The coughs returned, this time more violent and painful.

“Sam? Sammy? Can you hear me? Are you okay?” Dean asked, sounding more panicked than Sam’s heard in a while. He hadn’t noticed that his hand was gripping Dean’s jacket sleeve in a tight fist.

His breaths were heavy and greedy, but he didn’t care. He was just so happy to have the feeling of air back in his lungs. Dean’s hands were pressed against Sam’s cheek and neck, his eyes searching Sam’s face. Sam wanted to tell him that he was okay but he couldn’t bear to stop breathing long enough to speak even two words.

The worry on Dean’s face was enough to remind Sam of the situation, and suddenly the joy was ripped from him. The panic was back and Sam was lost in his mind, except this time there actually was air to abuse. Dean caught on to the terrified gasping instantly.

“Hey, hey. Sammy. You’re okay. You’re safe now. Just breathe, just take a breath. Alright? You’re okay. Just breathe.” Dean coached, his hands never leaving Sam. The contact was enough to drag him back to his body and he forced himself to listen to his brother.

_ Safe. Okay. Breathe. _

His breathing was still much too fast for Dean’s liking, but he figured he could cut the kid some slack. He’d nearly suffocated to death.

“That’s it, Sammy. Just breathe. I’m here. It’s okay. You’re safe.” Dean was speaking to Sam the same way he did when they were kids and Sam had a nightmare. Normally Sam would be pissed, but right now he was nothing more than grateful that Dean was even here.

“Thank you.” Sam gasped, dropping his head forward onto Dean’s shoulder. Dean took the invitation and pulled his brother in for a tight hug. Sam’s arms were shaking and his breaths were still too fast and too heavy. But he was breathing at all and for now that would have to be enough.

Dean pulled away to look Sam in the eyes once more. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asked, scanning Sam for blood or bruises.

“I’m fine. I promise. Now please get me out of this thing.” Sam begged, and Dean was quick to agree.

“Come on.” He said, climbing out of the hole and turning back to pull Sam up. It ended up being no more than two feet deep, but Sam’s legs were still so shaky he doubted he could step up on his own.

“Let’s get to the car. We can turn the heater on, you feel really cold.” And honestly, Sam hadn’t noticed until now, but yeah. He was freezing.

“Good plan.” Sam muttered, letting Dean lead him to the car. But when his brother opened the door for him, suddenly his heart clenched up again and his stomach twisted painfully.

“Actually, let’s just… sit on the hood for a bit. Okay?” Dean seemed to catch onto Sam’s anxiety and nodded, hopping up onto the hood and patting the empty space for Sam to join him.

They stay in silence for a few moments, Sam not knowing what to say and Dean just wanting to give him a minute to  _ breathe _ .

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, finally breaking the silence. Sam seemed to be staring at the horizon absently, and he practically jumped out of his skin when Dean spoke.

“Yeah, I’m uh… I’m fine. I just need a minute before we get in the car. It’s just… I don’t really wanna…” Sam didn’t seem to want to finish that sentence, but that was fine because Dean knew exactly what he wanted to say.

“Yeah, I get it. We can stay as long as you need. You probably want water.” Dean realized, hopping off the hood to run around to the trunk. He tossed the bottle to Sam, who twisted off the cap and drank greedily.

“Woah, easy there. You’ll make yourself sick.” Dean warned, and Sam listened.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam asked, glancing over at his brother.

“Yeah?”

“How’d you find me?” Sam asked, turning to fully face Dean.

“Oh, the guy gave up the spot.” Dean said, shrugging it off and heading to the backseat to grab a beer.

“What? Why would he do that? Who was it?” Sam now had a million questions, and he could only ask so many at once.

“Some college kid.” Again Dean shrugged, cracking open his beer as if the answer didn’t matter.

“A college kid? Attacked and tried to kill me? Why?”

“He said he didn’t want to. He said…” Dean hesitated, looking down at his beer.

“He said what? Dean, what’d he say?” Sam pressed, hopping off the hood to move closer to Dean.

“He said, ‘God asked me to do it.’ And before you go with your conspiracies, people say that jack all the time and 9/10 times it’s crap.” Dean rushed the response, refusing to look at Sam.

“Can we go home now, please?” Sam asked, deciding not to argue with Dean.

“Yeah. ‘Course.” Dean chugged the rest of the beer and tossed the can in the backseat, climbing into the car. Sam hesitated with his hand on the handle, before taking a deep breath and getting in the car.

Instantly his heart clenched and his skin got goosebumps. Dean, attentive as always, noticed that too.

“You okay, Sammy?” He asked, a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Yeah. I’m just- just gonna, uh… open the uh- window.” Sam stammered, his shaking fingers reaching out to the roll down the window. As soon as he felt the breeze through the gap his heart loosened up and he was able to breathe again. 

“Lemme know if you need to stop and get out, okay?” Dean asked, and Sam had never seen him this genuine and soft.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

————————————————————————

The first panic attack came only two hours later. It was still dark out, and they were just outside the city limits, when Sam’s breath hitched so hard it sounded like he’d been punched in the stomach. Dean looked over towards the sound, finding Sam’s fists pressed against his eyes and his chest heaving rapidly.

“Sammy?”

“Stop the car.” And that was all Dean needed. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, climbing out of the car and rushing around to Sam’s side.

“Sammy. Come on, get out of the car. Let’s sit in the grass, okay? That sound good?” Dean asked, hands gently gripping Sam’s shoulders and leading him out into the cool night air. Sam’s legs gave out a few feet from the car, and Dean was quick to follow.

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay. You’re safe. I promise. It’s just me here, okay? Just breathe, little brother.” Dean soothed, worried about how fast and shallow Sam’s breathing was.

“I can’t breathe.” Sam whined, one hand pressed against his chest, the nails digging into skin, the other gripping Dean’s shirt sleeve in a tight fist.

“Yes you can. You can breathe. It’s okay. Just relax. I’m right here. Just breathe, Sammy. Just slow down and take a breath. It’s all okay. You’re okay.” Dean promised, hands gripping Sam’s arm and petting his hair.

Sam took a deep, if not shaky breath, his eyes clenched shut. “That’s it, Sammy. Just keep breathing. Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re safe.”

Sam collapsed onto his back in the grass, hiding his face behind his hands. “Sorry.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize. I honestly expected that to come sooner.” Dean told him, absently rubbing Sam’s shoulder.

“How far are we from the bunker?” Sam asked, looking up at Dean.

“About six hours. But we can spread it out over a couple days. Might be fun.” Dean offered, honestly not minding. If anything, some time on the road visiting places and just sightseeing might be good for the brothers.

“You ready to get back in the car? We’re about five miles from a motel.” Dean asked, grabbing Sam’s hand and helping to pull him to his feet.

“You’ll drive fast, right?” Sam asked, his voice still slightly shaky. Enough that Dean noticed it.

“Like lightning. Then we’ll sleep it off, and tomorrow we’ll try again. Sound good?” Sam only nodded in response, getting back into the car, with the window still rolled down.

By the time they made it to the motel, Dean was practically carrying a half-asleep Sam into the room. Sam was still covered in dirt, and Dean was stuck with a decision. He could let Sam sleep, give the poor kid a break; or he could force him to shower and put on different clothes. The big brother in him told him Sam needed to get clean.

“Alright, little bro, time to wash up.” Dean said, depositing Sam on the toilet seat and turning on the water.

“Do I have too?” Sam whined, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes. You smell like dirt. Let’s go. Shower time.” Dean waited long enough to make sure Sam was actually going to get up, before leaving him to his devices.

He fell onto his bed, running his hands down his face and sighing. Today was rough. That was one of the closest calls they’ve had in a few months. Not to mention, Sam was clearly very shaken up. Which Dean expected. He only hoped he could help with this one.

Sam didn’t come out of the shower for another 30 minutes, and honestly Dean worried he’d passed out in the tub. But finally he emerged, in clean clothes and a wet mop on his head. Or what he calls hair.

“Can I go to bed now, or are you planning more torture?” Sam complained, before belly flopping onto his bed. Dean didn’t even have to check to know Sam was out like a light already.

By the time Dean made it to bed it was 6:00am and the sun was peeking through the blinds.

————————————————————————

The two slept the day away, not waking up until the next morning, both completely wiped by the previous night. Dean woke up first, as he expected, and he hurried out to grab some breakfast.

When he came back Sam was still asleep. Which he decided was a good thing. God knows the kid needed it.

It was another hour or two before Sam finally woke up. “Mmh. What time is it?” He groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“8:30.”

“I only slept for three hours?” Sam asked, glancing at the clock to make sure Dean was right.

“Sam, it’s 8:30, April 21st. Not 20th. You slept for 26 hours.” Dean told him, a smirk on his face.

“Woah. Guess I was tired. When do we leave?” Sam asked, moving to pack up his stuff.

“Woah, there. Slow down. Grab some grub first.” Dean called, tossing a bag onto Sam’s bed.

“This better not be yesterday’s breakfast.” Sam grumbled, practically swallowing the burger in one bite. It was then that Dean realized Sam hadn’t eaten in almost 30 hours.

“How you feelin’?” Dean asked, looking away from the computer to gauge Sam’s reaction to the question.

“Better than yesterday. The sleep really helped.” Sam answered honestly, and Dean was satisfied.

“We leave in an hour. You cool with that?” Dean asked, not wanting to push Sam. He didn’t want him to freak out again.

“Yeah, I think so. Should be fine. I guess we’ll find out.” Sam barely seemed to even know he was speaking, because he was so focused on shoving an entire carton of fries down his throat.

“Okay, good.”

————————————————————————

When they finally packed up and got in the car, Dean noticed Sam hesitate to pull the door open again. Sam seemed to be trying to gauge whether he would freak out or not. Finally, the door opened and he climbed into the car. Dean was quick to follow.

This time, Sam made it nearly four hours without freaking out. That is, until Dean messed up.

“So, what do you think? Metallica or AC/DC?” He asked, tossing the cassettes into Sam’s lap, not noticing that Sam had completely frozen up.

“Come on kid, don’t be afraid to speak your mind. I won’t judge.” Dean pressed, before finally looking over at his brother. Sam was once again hunched over in his seat with fists pressed into his eyes, his breathing quick and shallow.

“Okay. Okay, I’m pulling over. Hold on.” Dean hurries to open Sam’s door, nearly yanking him out of the car, allowing Sam to tumble to the pavement.

“Sammy? What is it? What happened?” Dean asked, gently pulling Sam’s hands away from his face.

“I don’t- wanna listen- to Metallica.” Sam panted desperately like a dog, and Dean was utterly confused.

“Okay. We won’t listen to Metallica. It’s okay, Sam. Just breathe. You’re safe.” Dean coached, making sure to keep constant contact with Sam.

“I hummed that song you like to calm myself down. And I can’t- I mean I don’t… I don’t ever wanna listen to Metallica again, you understand me? No more Metallica.” Sam gasped, his nails digging into Dean’s arm.

“Okay. I get it, Sammy. No more Metallica. That’s okay. Just relax. Everything’s okay.”

It was another couple of minutes before Sam’s breathing returned to a healthy pace. But Dean could still feel his heart racing. “Wanna stop for the night?”

For some ridiculous reason, Sam had this attack within walking distance of a motel. Dean would say ‘thank god’ but that seemed wrong, given the circumstances.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s stop.” They were only two hours from the bunker, and with how well he did today, Dean was sure they’d be home by tomorrow night. Luckily, Castiel and Jack were away on some Billie related crap, so the brothers would have the place to themselves.

“Let’s go check in, okay?” Dean helped Sam off the floor, walking a little closer to him than usual.

When they made it to their room, Sam fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling with a frown on his face.

“What’s up?” Dean asked, sitting adjacent on the other bed.

“This is frustrating. I hate that this is bothering me so much. I’ve dealt with much worse than this.” Sam mumbled, never taking his eyes off the odd spot on the ceiling.

“Sam, you nearly died. You practically were dead, you weren’t breathing. Not to mention you spent over five hours in the dark in a box. Looking at you now I’m damn grateful you talked me out of the Ma’lak box crap.” Dean was hesitant to mention that, but luckily Sam snorted in response.

“You’re welcome.” Sam grumbled, pulling himself up and heading to the bathroom.

————————————————————————

The next day’s drive went smoothly. No freak out from Sam, and he even laughed a few times. Everything went perfectly. Until they actually arrived at the bunker. Sam got out of the car, took one look at the exterior, and fell apart.

“Sam? Sammy? Hey.” Dean called, hurrying over to where his brother was huddled on the floor, nearly crying.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Dean asked, grabbing Sam’s hand to stop him from scratching himself.

“How did I forget that our underground bunker is  _ underground _ ?” Sam stressed, and suddenly Dean felt like smacking himself in the head. How  _ did _ they forget?

“Do you wanna stay at another motel for a bit? We don’t have to go in.” Dean offered, not even caring if they stay in a motel again. As long as it helps.

“No, I think I can go in. I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s okay. I got this.” Sam insisted, standing up, and making his way towards the front door of the bunker.

“Only if you're sure.” Dean said, beating Sam to the door.

The stairs were the worst part. Sam took nearly five minutes to go down each individual step and Dean had to talk him through it. But once he reached the bottom he seemed to loosen up at the familiarity of the place.

“You good?” Dean asked, setting his bag down on the map table.

“Yeah. I just have to remind myself that I can leave whenever I want.” Sam said, making his way to the kitchen, with Dean shadowing him.

“Want something to eat?” Dean offered, already grabbing himself a beer.

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Okay. Well, holler if you need anything.”

————————————————————————

The first night home was  _ rough _ . Dean was woken up at nearly 3:00am by Sam screaming down the hall. 

“Dean!”

And when he finally made the trek to Sam’s room, he knew why. Sam was laying on his chest, beating his palms into the mattress as though he were banging on a door. But Dean knew that wasn’t what he was doing.

“Sammy!” Dean called, moving to the bed. He gripped Sam’s shoulder tight and shook him just a little, but it was enough that Sam jolted like he’d been electrocuted and scrambled out of the bed and against the wall.

“Woah! Sammy! Hey, hey. It’s just me. It’s okay.” Dean assured him.

“Can we- I gotta- I’m gonna go outside.” Sam stammered, pushing past Dean and practically sprinting to the front door. Dean followed right after.

When he finally made it outside he found Sam sitting on the hood of the impala, his fists pressed into his eyes again. “Sammy. Hey, talk to me. What is this? Stuff like this usually only lasts a day or two. It’s been nearly a week. What’s going on?”

Sam didn’t answer, he only shook his head. Dean sighed, scooting over so their shoulders were touching.

“Come on, man. What is this about?” Dean pressed, watching the way Sam’s hands were shaking. Sam looked up, seeming like he was debating whether to answer or not.

“Lucifer.” Sam whispered, staring at his hands.

Now that, Dean wasn’t expecting. He was under the impression Sam was about to reveal a childhood claustrophobia issue. Or a fear of the dark. Dean should’ve figured out that spending all that time in a cage will make a guy a little claustrophobic.

“Alright. What about him?” Dean asked, hoping he didn’t sound too nosy. It was out of curiosity, but it was also out of worry.

Again, Sam hesitated, sighing through his nose and licking his lips. “My second year in the cage. Lucifer got bored.” 

And  _ woah _ . Sam  _ never _ talked about the Cage. Not with Dean, not with anyone. Dean knew some basic stuff, but he never got any details and he definitely never got a spoken story. Something serious must be going on.

“Or maybe he was just sick of my face. I honestly still don’t know. But he…” Sam paused, running his hands over his face.

“It’s okay. Take your time.” Dean encouraged, tempted to wrap an arm around his brother but not wanting to scare him.

“He locked me up. Just… Just left me in there. And sometimes he would… he would take away the air in there and I would choke. I’m sure you know, but you can’t pass out in hell. He would just let me choke for hours on end. And then he’d bring it back. But he wouldn’t let me out. I know you know that’s not all he did to me, but that was one of the worst ones.” Sam muttered, fidgeting with his fingers.

“How long did he leave you in there?” Dean asked, not entirely sure he wanted the answer. Sam didn’t seem to want it either.

“Sammy.” Dean pressed, watching Sam’s hands tremble.

“It was… it was a little over a year.” Sam whispered, staring intently at the floor.

Dean felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Now Sam’s adamant refusal of the Ma’lak box plan had a much darker undertone. He didn’t want Dean to go through what he’d gone through.

And now Dean was pissed. If Lucifer were still alive Dean would gut him like a pig. The idea that anything was evil enough to do that to another living creature was enough to make his stomach roll.

“Okay.” Was all Dean could muster up to say. He was in so much shock. No wonder this recent near death experience had Sam so on edge. Dean can’t even begin to imagine how it would have felt to be in that box and think he was back in the cage and that he’d have to spend a  _ year _ in there.

“Yeah.” Sam muttered, and the two remained silent for a few minutes.

Finally, Dean was the one to break it. “How come claustrophobia has never been an issue before? I mean we’ve been locked in cells, we’re in a car eight hours a day, we live in an underground bunker!”

“Because, I never thought about it. I shoved it away in the back of my mind and never thought about it again. Being…” Sam paused to take a deep breath. “Being down there just- let it free, I guess. Now it’s all I can think about.” 

“And the Ma’lak box. That was you… you knew. That’s why you were upset about it.” It really wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. I couldn’t stand the idea of you- that’s why I got so upset. Also because you were trying to kill yourself, but that was part of it too.” Sam said, and Dean couldn’t help but notice that his hands had yet to still.

“I’m sorry. If I had known I never would’ve even considered it. That wouldn’t have been fair to you.”

“You already didn’t plan on telling me.” Sam reminded him grimly.

“I knew you’d find out eventually though. The fishermen who were gonna rent me the boat would have spoken up, maybe Billie would’ve rubbed it in your face. I don’t know. I just knew you’d find out one day.” They fall into silence once more, Dean not knowing what to say, and Sam just trying to remind himself that he can breathe.

“I was terrified.” Sam suddenly said, his gaze distant.

“I get why. I would’ve been too.” Dean told him, finally looking at Sam’s face. Dean knew that for certain. Hell, he’d been terrified when he was planning the Ma’lak box. He could only imagine how scared he would’ve been had he gone through with it.

“I don’t know how to let this go.” Sam muttered, glancing at Dean.

“You don’t have to. We never let this stuff go. We just… learn to live with it. And if you need help living with it, come find me, okay?” Dean insisted, nudging Sam’s shoulder.

“Thanks.” 

“Ready to go back to bed?” Dean asked, gesturing to the front door. To be honest, he was freezing and he was sure Sam was too. 

“Yeah. Let’s go.”


	14. Is Something Burning?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Branded/Heat exhaustion/Fire
> 
> TWs for this chapter: third degree burns, self harm (not in the dark way though), emergency rooms, minor character death, hatchet/axe, excessive amounts of blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Sam would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little bit afraid of fire. Spending 180 in a metal cage encircled by fire in the pits of hell was surely part of it, not to mention having his foot burned excruciatingly by a blowtorch. And he’d learned recently that his brother wasn’t too big of a fan either. That could probably have something to do with the fact that his mother burned to death when he was a toddler.

That’s why when Sam found himself on the floor in front of a burning fireplace, facing down a violent 19 year old girl, he was  _ not _ a fan of the situation. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. The girl was wielding a large hatchet, her eyes alight in rage as she glowered down at Sam.

_ How do I get into these situations? _ He wondered, backing up as far from her as he could without literally crawling into the fire. Unfortunately, he had a pretty good idea to incapacitate her long enough to gain the advantage, but he did  _ not _ want to do it. Burns on their own were bad enough. Burnt hands were nearly intolerable. But, he didn’t really have much of a choice.

So, regrettably, he reached back behind him and grabbed a large, glowing red coal and smashed it into the girl’s face. And his hand was immediately scorched with excruciating pain, but he managed to hold it long enough to burn the girl’s cheek. She screamed in pain, dropping the hatchet and falling back a few steps, which gave Sam enough time to get to his feet.

This girl would have nowhere near the pain tolerance Sam had, which turned out to be a clear advantage in this fight. Despite the agony coursing through his hand, Sam managed to pick up the hatchet and swing it into the girl’s face. The sharp side of the blade embedded itself in her skull, and it was almost instantaneously that the light left her eyes and she slumped to the floor.

Once he’d assured himself she was dead, Sam took the time to look down at his hand. This burn wasn’t nearly as bad as the blowtorch, and for that he was thankful. He did notice however the points where whole layers of skin had been scorched through, exposing muscle. He tested his range of movement by simply twitching his finger, but soon regretted it as his vision went white for a few seconds.

Surely this was at least third degree, which meant weeks and weeks of barely being able to use his hand. Normally he’d ask Cas for help, but they hadn’t heard from him in weeks. No, Sam would probably have to go to the hospital for this one. Before he had the chance to call Dean, his phone rang.

“Dean, thank god. I need your help.” Sam started, moving to the kitchen. It was hard to shuffle through the cabinets with one hand while he held the phone to his ear with his shoulder, but he managed.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, and Sam could hear the unnecessary worry in his tone. He finally managed to find a large enough bowl, shoving it under the ice machine in the fridge. The cubes clunked into the bowl one by one, and he felt tears prickle his eyes as his hand continued to sting brutally.

“Lacy? Yeah, she was the killer. Came at me with a hatchet and I burned my hand. We have a big mess to clean up here.” Sam informed his brother, flinching so hard when his hand finally made it into the ice water. As with most injuries, what was supposed to help at first only made the pain ten times worse.

“I’m on my way. Stay put.” The dial tone rang out, and Sam was relieved. He didn’t want Dean to hear him crying in pain as the pain in his hand doubled with the contact of the ice.

Luckily, after a few minutes his whole hand began to numb and the pain lessened excessively. Sam let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, slouching in his chair. The front door opened moments later, and Dean was in the kitchen in seconds, his gun pulled despite Sam having told him the danger was dealt with.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, holstering his gun and moving towards his brother, eyes on the bowl of ice.

“I’m a lot better now. I really jacked up my hand.” Sam answered, reluctantly pulling his hand from the water and showing it to Dean.

“Oh man. That’s bad.” Dean commented, gently investigating Sam’s hand.

“Yeah, but the ice has numbed it pretty good.” Sam said, pulling his hand back and putting it back in the ice.

“Hospital?” Dean asked, heading to the living room to find the ‘mess’ Sam mentioned. The mess, of course, was the 19 year old girl with a hatchet buried in her face, a pool of blood building up around her body.

“Well, that sure is a mess.” Dean concluded, gently nudging Lacy’s body with his boot.

“Like I said.” Sam chuckled, walking into the living room with his hand still in the bowl. “I didn’t really have many options.”

“Alright. I’ll get this cleaned up, and then we’ll go to the hospital. You better get busy coming up with a story about how you got burned.” Dean reminded him, before he gripped the girl by her ankles and began dragging her out to the car.

Dean had a good point. Sam couldn’t very well tell the ER that he got burned while murdering a teenager. So he settled on having grabbed the handle of a cast iron pan. Rookie mistake, but it was believable. Thirty minutes later, Dean finally returned to the kitchen.

“Let’s bounce.” He said, leading Sam to the impala. Unfortunately, Sam had to leave behind his bowl of ice, so the drive to the ER was pretty full of pain as the numbness left his hand.

Two hours and lots of bandages later, Sam was free to go, with an  _ extensive _ list of caring instructions for the burns. Dean laughed at Sam as he climbed back into the car, claiming his hand looked like a transplant from the pillsbury dough boy. Sam only responded with his little brother bitch face.


	15. Into The Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Possession/Magical Healing/Science gone wrong
> 
> TWs: possession, ghosts, mention of murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hate this chapter I think it’s so stupid and awful and when I have free time and a little more energy I’m going to completely scrap and redo it

One would think that after 33 years Sam would have learned that not all hunts that start off easy, end easy. And yet, to this day Sam and his brother walked into hunts with the idea that they need not worry. Everything would be fine.

Typical ghost haunting in a family home in Wichita, Kansas. The family had been tormented for months by a vengeful spirit of a young man named Max Sampson. He’d been murdered in the home five years before the family moved in. The haunting was as normal as it could be. Objects appearing and disappearing at random, cold spots, and lights flickering. 

Sam and Dean had gotten the couple to agree to letting them spend the night in the house to handle the spirit. And the first hard part was simply finding the object the spirit was attached to. The boys were content to just use the EMF meter on different objects around the house, having split up to work faster. Dean went down to the basement, while Sam’s searched the crawl space above the house. Having found nothing, Sam moved back down to the first floor.

“Dean? Find anything?” Sam called, rummaging through the kitchen cupboards and drawers for anything out of place. The basement door squealed open, and Sam turned to find his brother standing in the doorway. 

“Hey. Anything?” Sam asked again, turning back towards his task. Dean didn’t respond, only silently making his way into the kitchen. Sam would kick himself for it later, but for some reason he didn’t find that odd. Nothing was odd, until something hard and solid hit him in the back of the head.

Sam cried out and collapsed to his knees, turning frantically towards the point of attack, only to find Dean holding a crowbar menacingly, glaring down at his brother.

“Dean? What the hell?” Sam asked, shuffling away from his brother. Dean matched his pace, walking forward a step for every foot Sam moved back. Sam knew exactly what was going on. Somehow, the ghost had gotten to Dean, just like Elicott had done to Sam in 2005.

“Dean, listen to me. You can fight this, okay? I know you don’t want to hurt me.” Sam reasoned, hoping he could snap his brother out of it before it got violent.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, Sam. I’m fine.” Dean grinned, his fist tight around the crowbar. Sam moved to sit up, but he didn’t make it very far before Dean kicked him hard in the chest and knocked him back down. Before Sam could even blink Dean had gotten down to sit on top of him, and the sharp end of the crowbar was leveled just above his sternum threatening to impale him at any second.

Sam reached up and gripped the bar, desperately trying to push it away from his chest. Unfortunately, when it came down to physical strength Dean would always win that fight.

“Just stop this! I don’t know what Max did to you, but you have to snap out of it!” Sam cried as the veins popped out in his arm against the strain of holding the crowbar away. Dean only laughed.

“I don’t wanna snap out of it. I want to kill you.” Dean growled, his entire body weight bearing down on the crowbar.

“No, you don’t! Dean, your whole life you have done nothing but protect me. Every single day for 37 years. You have always put me first. You’ve always taken care of me, and kept me safe. If there’s one thing I know about you it’s that you would rather die than hurt me. So please, don’t do something you’ll regret!” Sam begged, watching as realization began to flicker in Dean’s eyes.

The next thirty seconds were critical. Whether or not Dean fought his way out of the possession was up to him, and Sam could only lay on the floor and watch in anticipation. Finally, Dean blinked once, before the crowbar clattered to the floor. He looked down at Sam in panic, luckily finding his brother alive and relatively unharmed.

“Are you okay?” He asked, climbing off of Sam so he could help him stand up.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Sam assured him, grabbing his shotgun off the floor where it had fallen. “Let’s finish this.”


	16. A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hallucinations, Shoot the hostage
> 
> SPOILER ALERT IN THE TWs!!!!
> 
> Wow! Lots of TWs for this chapter oh no
> 
> TWs for this chapter: major character death (implied), guns (shots fired, implied), hallucinations, mentions of Lucifer, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of murder, suicidal ideation, mentions of suicide, suicidal imagery, implied mentions of car crash imagery
> 
> As always lemme know if I missed any

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahaha so this one kinda started out like a normal fic and sorta turned into a vent fic for me. My inspiration for Sam in this chapter is basically just my own ranting thoughts. It gets pretty personal so please tread lightly!

All Sam wanted to do was sigh exasperatedly. He was so  _ sick _ of being kidnapped. Sure, it was just one of the perks of his amazing job. But it got pretty damn tedious after a while. Who wouldn’t be sick of the same old monologue about getting revenge for the same old slights? Although he did have to admit, this was a new one.

For once, not only did he have to be annoyed by the kidnapper, moaning about how Sam or Dean, (usually Dean), had ruined their life. This time, however, Sam was also being annoyed by Lucifer. He’d been hallucinating for a few months now, and one would think he’d be used to it, but no. No one could ever get used to the Devil’s incessant and exhausting pestering.

Not that Sam was listening, but from what few words he managed to piece together, Sam and Dean had taken out this guy’s nest of vampires nearly ten years ago. And now, as some sort of stupid revenge plot, he was gonna kill them both. Typical.

Dean was in the background trying to talk down the vamp, but Sam couldn’t hear anything over Lucifer shouting the lyrics to Goodbye Earl by the Dixie Chicks. Out of all the songs, he chose a song about two women murdering a wife-beater? Not that Sam didn’t like the song, just seemed random. Then again, it was better than Stairway to Heaven.

Sam could hear Dean calling his name, so he turned to face his brother, trying his best to understand what Dean was saying. It looked like, “are you okay” but he couldn’t be sure.

“I’m fine.” He said, completely unaware of how loud he was being. Dean picked up on the cause pretty easily, and Sam saw him mouth Lucifer’s name. Sam nodded, pointing up at the ceiling to indicate that Lucifer was being too loud right now.

Sam knew how much this situation bothered Dean. How much it tore at him to know his brother was suffering and he couldn’t help. On top of that was the guilt, knowing that he’d technically caused it. Well, he was step one. Castiel breaking Sam’s trauma wall was step two. Now, Cas was their best friend. But Dean knew in his heart he would never- no,  _ could _ never- forgive the angel for this. No one gets away with hurting Sam. Not even Cas.

Dean had been better about the situation than Sam would’ve expected. He was always around if Sam needed pain medication for his constant headache, always working day and night to find a way to put the wall back up. Sometimes it all made Sam feel like a little kid, but he was too tired to care.

In fact, Sam was beyond exhausted. As of right now it had been 39 hours since he’d slept a wink. But unlike when he was soulless and stayed up because he didn’t have to sleep, now he couldn’t sleep no matter how badly he needed it. Lucifer seemed to have figured out his strategy. At first his goal seemed to be to get Sam to shoot himself, but when he realized that wasn’t going to work he was forced to change tactics.

Sometimes, Sam forgets that Lucifer isn’t real. Sometimes he swears the real Lucifer is just following him around like a deranged puppy. But, Dean is always there to remind him of the truth. That only makes Sam feel worse though. Knowing that his mind is doing this to itself. Makes him feel like he’s lost his marbles. And really, hasn’t he?

Sure, it was supernatural insanity, but insanity is still insanity. Sometimes Sam wonders if this was always meant to happen. Maybe if he hadn’t gotten his wall broken his mind was so destroyed by hell that the wall would’ve disintegrated itself over time. Maybe he was always supposed to go crazy.

This life wasn’t made for someone like him and he knew that. But, was he always supposed to end up in this situation? John did always say that everything happens for a reason. And maybe he was right. Maybe Sam’s whole existence was just supposed to be some big, cosmic joke. When he really thought about, every single thing that could possibly go wrong in a person’s life had gone wrong in his. Would he  _ ever _ catch a break?

Or was God up in the sky toying with him like a puppet master for his own personal satisfaction? The latter seemed more likely. But, who’s to say anyone’s life isn’t a joke? Humans always take their lives so seriously. They’re so obsessed with having the best life they can, with finishing and accomplishing everything they ever dreamt of. But, Sam knows better than anyone that life doesn’t turn out the way you thought it would when you were young.

Sam’s whole life, he’s felt like he’s behind the wheel of a car, driving straight towards a cliff. But every time he’s about to reach the edge something pulls him back and he’s forced to start all over. And god did he just wish he could reach that edge.

It wasn’t that he was suicidal, no, that couldn’t be more wrong. It was more like he was aware that he would die one day. After all, everybody knows that everybody dies. And nobody knows it like Sam. And maybe he was just getting a little impatient. And damnit, he’s allowed to be impatient. Anyone in their right mind would wanna hold on to life as long as they could. But then again, Sam wasn’t in his right mind was he?

No, Sam wasn’t suicidal. He was just so,  _ so tired _ . And now, as he finally looked up to find a gun in his face, an image he was disturbingly used to, he didn’t feel fear. On the contrary, he was relieved.

Some fucked up voice in the back of his mind was screaming,  _ “do it! Please, god do it” _ . It wasn’t Lucifer. It was his own worn down, exhausted voice. And wasn’t it ironic that for the first time in all of Sam’s life… he finally got what he wanted?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed, I’ve actually never written something like this before so hopefully it went over well.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments keep my gears turning, so please feel free to interact!


	17. I Did Not See That Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wrongly Accused
> 
> TWs for this chapter: implied/referenced drug use, mentions of sobriety, mentions of addiction, self doubt, self hatred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got me a little carried away hehe sorry this will probably make you cry

One would think that after years of sobriety Sam would finally be given the benefit of the doubt. However, it would seem that Dean just might never truly trust Sam. 

He stayed up late researching at the kitchen table, his laptop in front of him and a full coffee pot across the room on the counter. Miraculously, he didn’t notice when the pot floated across the room and landed on his left, settling in place without a sound. Dean sure as hell saw it though.

“What the hell?” Dean asked, stepping down the two steps leading into the kitchen. Sam jolted in shock, not expecting his brother to still be up.

“What?” Sam replied, glancing back at his brother before returning to his laptop screen.

“How’d you do that?” Dean questioned, pointing at the coffee pot with a suspicious look on his face.

“Do what?” Sam asked, now properly turning to face his brother.

“The coffee pot. How’d you move it like that?” Sam finally looked down to find the coffee pot sitting next to him just as Dean said. But he was sure he’d left it under the coffee maker… Didn’t he?

“Wait… but, it was just over there?” Sam wondered aloud, turning the coffee pot around as if he’d find some proof that he was right. 

“Yeah, exactly. So how’d you do that?” Dean asked again, seemingly starting to get frustrated.

“I didn’t do anything.” Sam retorted, confused that Dean was blaming him.

“Sam, I just watched the coffee pot hover over to you from across the room. How the  _ hell _ did you do that?” Dean clearly already thought he knew the answer, but Sam was beyond confused. He  _ didn’t do anything _ .

“I didn’t even know it was here until you pointed it out!” Sam insisted, eyes wide as he glanced in awe between his brother and the pot.

“Stop screwing with me, Sam. Are you using again?” Dean asked as bluntly as possible, looking Sam dead in the eyes. Now  _ that _ threw Sam for a loop. What the hell gave Dean that idea?

“What?! No! Why would you even ask me that?” Sam shouted, staring at his brother in shock.

“Don’t lie to me. I just watched the damn coffee pot float across the fucking room. What other explanation is there? Besides, there’s been something off about you for days now.” Dean defended his statement, arms crossed like an angry mother.

“You know damn well I’m not using again. I haven’t touched the stuff in years.” Sam retorted, standing up so as not to feel smaller than his brother. Sometimes when Dean acted like a parent it made Sam feel so little. Like he was still five years old, when in reality he was bigger than Dean.

“Sammy, I’m not gonna be mad. Just be honest with me, okay?” Dean was acting like he was staging some kind of junkie intervention. But Sam couldn’t be any more clear.

“ _ I am not on demon blood. _ ” He insisted, looking his brother in the eye. Dean looked at Sam calculating my for a moment, before grabbing his jacket and walking out of the kitchen. 

“Dean! Where are you going?” Sam called after him as he followed him to the main entryway.

“I’m gonna go get Cas. He’ll tell me the truth if you won’t.” Dean snapped as he started climbing the front stairs.

“Dean! Listen to me, please. It was probably a ghost! I am not using again!” Sam begged, trying to be rational. Although it didn’t seem like Dean wanted to listen.

“Stay here.” He ordered, slamming the door behind him.

Sam growled in frustration, running his hands through his hair and storming back to the kitchen. Why doesn’t Dean ever listen to him? Did he seriously think so little of Sam that he’d be on the blood again after all that time? No, this was definitely a ghost, and Sam planned on proving it. So, with no better plan, he hurried to his room to find his EMF meter. And wouldn’t you know it, setting it near the coffee pot made it spiral out of control.

“Find the ghost.” Sam told himself, making his way through the never-ending halls of the bunker to find the strongest signal. When the meter started screeching like a banshee he froze, pushing open the door to the storage room. 

“Hello? Are you in here?” Sam called, hoping the spirit was strong enough to show itself to him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a bottle shattered on the cement floor, glass flying in every direction.

“It’s okay! I just wanna talk!” Sam assured the spirit, hoping he could calm it down before it tried to kill him.

Slowly, a shape began to manifest in the corner. Nearly thirty seconds in, the shape turned into a little girl curled up in a ball.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. My name is Sam. What’s yours?” Sam asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor so as to seem less imposing. The little girl lifted her head, peeking out from behind her hair to watch Sam warily.

“Maggie.” She whispered, shaking like a leaf.

“Hi, Maggie. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt you. I wanna help, okay?” He asked, holding his hands up to show her he didn’t have salt or fire. When she nodded, he continued.

“Do you know where you are?” Sam asked, looking around the room for anything that looked like it belonged to a little girl. She couldn’t be more than nine. Maggie shook her head, seeming really scared still.

“Okay. Well, this place is called ‘the bunker.’ It’s the safest place on Earth. I live here with my brother and our friend Castiel. How did you get here?” Maggie reached up and pointed to a small doll with red pigtails and a farm girl dress. Sam got up to grab it, playing with it gently.

“Is this yours?” He asked, showing her the doll.

“Yeah. My mommy gave it to me when I was a baby. Her name is Sandy.” Maggie said, looking as if she were about to cry.

“And how did you and Sandy get here?” Sam asked, using the kid voice he’d perfected in his years of hunting. Scared kids were something Sam and Dean had to deal with pretty often in their job. 

“My daddy shot me. And when I woke up I could fly but no one could hear me. And wherever Sandy went, I went. I’m sort of stuck to her, I guess. And one day everything went dark. And when I woke up again we were in here.” Maggie explained, slowly starting to unfurl herself as she began to trust Sam.

Sam’s guess is that somehow she’d accidentally possessed Sandy and was stuck in there for years until something released her. He wondered how long she’d been in there.

“Maggie, what year do you think it is?” Sam questioned, tossing Sandy to her. Maggie seemed thrilled when she managed to catch the doll.

“1994. Why?” She asked, not looking up from Sandy.

“Nothing. Now, what if I told you I had a way to set you free?” Sam told her, a warm smile on his face. She lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Really?” She shouted, a grin on her face as she looked up at Sam.

“Yeah! My brother and I, we help people like you. We can get you to Heaven! Doesn’t that sound good?” Maggie seemed overjoyed by the idea of going to Heaven, and Sam couldn’t help but be grateful that she already understood she was dead. He didn’t want to have to break the news to a nine year old girl that she died.

“Okay, so you stay right here with Sandy. And I will go get my brother. How does that sound?” Sam suggested, beginning to stand up. She nodded enthusiastically, already distracted with playing with her doll.

Sam made his way back to the map room, finding Dean and Cas arguing animatedly at the map table. They both looked up when he walked in.

“Well you owe me one hell of an apology.” Sam snarked, making his way towards the table.

“Cas.” Dean said, gesturing to Sam.

“Well, there’s definitely something off about him. May I feel your forehead?” Cas asked, walking up to Sam.

“No! Dean, I  _ told _ you. I’m fine! Just come to the storage room with me, I can prove it.” Sam insisted, swatting Cas’ hand away as he reached up to feel Sam’s forehead.

“I’ll make a deal with you. Let Cas prove your story, and then you can show me whatever the hell you want.” Dean suggested, clearly far too convinced in his own story to go off of Sam’s word alone.

“Fine.” Sam conceded, plopping in one of the rolling chairs and throwing his hands up in surrender.

“May I?” Cas asked, holding his hand in front of Sam’s forehead.

“Go for it.” Sam grumbled, crossing his arms and pouting like an angry toddler.

“He’s not warm. Give me your arm.” Cas ordered, and Sam was too annoyed to bother arguing, so he held his arm out in front of Cas. Cas leaned down and sniffed Sam’s wrist, who pulled his hand away with a shout of ‘ew!’.

“He doesn’t currently have demon blood in his system.” Castiel concluded, looking back at Dean.

“Fine. What’s your proof, Sam?” Dean asked, and Sam huffed angrily as he stood up and stomped off towards the storage room, knowing Dean and Cas were following him.

When the two strange men followed Sam into the storage room Maggie shreaked and scurried back into the wall, dropping Sandy.

“Hey! It’s okay, Maggie. This is my brother, Dean, and our friend, Castiel.” Sam assured her, gesturing from Dean to Cas. Dean looked beyond confused, and Cas had a stoic face as usual.

“Sam? Who’s this?” Dean asked, looking at Sam and pointing to the terrified little girl.

“Dean, this is Maggie. The  _ ghost _ that moved the coffee pot this morning.” Sam added extra emphasis on ‘ghost’ making sure to rub it in Dean’s face how wrong he was.

“Hi, Maggie. It’s okay, we won’t hurt you.” Dean told her, crouching down a few feet away from her and picking up Sandy.

“That’s her item. She’s attached to it. I’m thinking we can use it to release her.” Sam said, grabbing Sandy and tossing her back to Maggie.

“Yeah, that’s easy enough. Don’t worry, Maggie, we’ll get you out of here soon, I promise.” Dean told her, standing up and grabbing the lighter off the shelf.

“I’m gonna try to explain this to you, alright?” Sam asked, sitting down in front of Maggie, who nodded. “We have to destroy Sandy. It’s the only way to get you up to Heaven. But, I promise she’ll be up there waiting for you to arrive, okay?”

Maggie looked absolutely petrified, but she nodded nonetheless, giving Dean permission to burn Sandy. Maggie vanished with a flash of light, and the three men were left with awkward silence.

“Sam, listen-” Dean started, but Sam was having none of it.

“No! You listen. It’s been years since I’ve even touched demon blood. You pulled that accusation out of your ass and you know it. When the hell are you gonna start trusting me?” Sam snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at Dean. Cas seemed to have decided it was best he not get involved.

“It’s not about not trusting you, Sam. I had no other logical explanation for that coffee pot this morning.” Dean argued, clearly not willing to accept defeat on this one.

“Look at our line of work, Dean! There were a million other logical explanations. And don’t tell me that it’s not about not trusting me! You have  _ never _ trusted me since you found out about Ruby. You’ve been trying so damn hard to sideline me ever since then, and I’m so beyond sick of it. I have spent my entire life putting my life in your hands without hesitation no matter how many times you fuck up. And trust me, you have  _ royally _ fucked up once or twice.

“And yet, I make  _ one _ mistake and all of a sudden I’m a psychotic freak that you can’t trust anymore! I will spend every second of the rest of my life beating myself up for letting Lucifer out. But, don’t you think 180 years in hell was punishment enough? Don’t you think I’ve punished  _ myself _ enough? You may have the pleasure of waking up every morning without the weight of the whole damn world on your shoulders, but at least I’ll always know I’m the bigger person.

“Because, I let you move past your world ending mistakes. I’ve learned to forgive. And if you can’t find it in yourself to forgive me for something that wasn’t my fault to begin with, then that’s on you, but at least be honest with me. Do you wanna just tell me now you’re never gonna give the second chance I deserve?

“And while you’re sitting up there on your high horse, might I remind you that  _ you broke the first seal! _ ” Sam shouted, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

He immediately felt guilty for that last part, but he was far too furious to go back and apologize. So, he locked the door to his room and fell back against it, sinking to the floor as he gripped his hair in fists. God, did he hate being angry.

Sam loved his brother more than anyone or anything on the planet. But no one else in the whole world could ever hurt him the way Dean does sometimes. Dean could just get so self righteous sometimes and Sam found it beyond infuriating. Dean was not  _ better  _ than Sam. Maybe he was a better hunter, but he wasn’t a better person.

All Sam has ever done is what he believes was the right thing. He’s fought tooth and nail, sacrificing himself and everything he loves for the greater good. For god’s sake, he threw himself into the deepest pit of hell with the devil himself just to save his brother.

Despite it all, Sam knew Dean didn’t deserve that last part. Sam absolutely loathed himself for using that against Dean, but it had to be said. Ever since Sam broke the final seal Dean has been hell bent on making him pay some kind of penance. He might not know he’s even doing it, but Sam can sure as hell see it.

But, at the end of the day, at its simplest, it just flat out wasn’t  _ fair _ . Sure, Sam broke the final seal with his own actions and he did it on purpose. But, he didn’t know that was the final seal. Sam killed Lilith because she was a monster and she deserved to die, and because someone he thought he could trust promised him that that was the only way to save the world. Sam made a  _ mistake _ . And Dean outright refused to let him move past it. 

When Dean broke the first seal, he didn’t even know what the seals  _ were _ . Let alone that he was about to start them. It was a  _ mistake _ . And not once, until today, had Sam  _ ever _ used that against Dean, or belittled him for it. In fact, until this day Sam had never even mentioned it. Because he knew it wasn’t Dean’s fault. He knew Dean deserved to accept his mistake and move on.

But maybe Dean was right. Maybe Sam was at fault. Maybe if he had just sat down for one minute and just  _ listened _ to his brother, Lucifer never would’ve gotten out. Maybe things between him and Dean would still be normal. Maybe he really was the monster who started the apocalypse.

Maybe things between Sam and his brother would never be the same again.


	18. Panic! At The Disco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Phobias/Panic Attacks/Paranoia
> 
> TWs for this chapter: mentions of PTSD, mentions of triggers, mentions of Hell, mentions of trauma, panic attack, mentions of self harm, mentions of blood, mentions of broken glass

PTSD is a very complicated disorder. Sam learned that pretty early on. Even after a year, he still didn’t have a comprehensive list of his triggers, and even if he did, it wasn’t like he was gonna jot them down and give it to his brother. Sam knew that Dean probably had PTSD too, but neither of them ever discussed it. It just wasn’t the kind of thing they talked about.

Over time Sam discovered more and more triggers. More and more phrases, objects, or smells that caused him to completely shut down. Dean wasn’t an idiot, he knew all about Sam’s panic attacks and exactly what they meant. But Sam didn’t bring it up so Dean didn’t either.

Sam’s panic attacks were scary for the both of them. Sam would have vivid and violent flashbacks, sometimes so convincing that he was sure he never actually got out of Hell in the first place. Sometimes it took Dean nearly an hour to bring him back to reality. Not to mention, during those flashbacks he would cry and gasp for air like a beached fish, all the whole shaking like a leaf.

Today was no better. In fact, it was worse. Sam had gone out to grab dinner for the two of them, and he never returned. Dean called him and called him but no answer. Over an hour after he’d first left, Dean’s phone rang.

“Sammy, where the hell are you?” Dean asked, not really angry, more worried. But, it wasn’t Sam who responded.

“Is this Dean?” A young lady asked, sounding scared. Dean could feel his heart start racing.

“Yeah. Where’s Sam?” Dean snapped, not caring that he was being rude. He did not have the patience to care about this lady’s feelings right now.

“He’s at Mickey’s Bar on 41st. I think he’s having some kind of episode. Oh- hold on.” She cutoff, and there was some shuffling as the phone passed hands. Finally, a gruff voice spoke up.

“He’s not having an  _ episode _ .” The voice snapped, presumably at the young lady. “He’s having a panic attack. Looks pretty rough. I tried to help but he just kept saying ‘call Dean.’”

“I’m on my way. Do not touch him, do not go near him. Tell him I’m coming.” Dean warned, running out to the car.

Sam did not handle physical contact well when he had his attacks. Dean asked him about it once and he said every time someone touched him it felt like he was on fire. Luckily, Dean had gotten pretty damn good at handling things like this. Finally he pulled up to the bar, hurrying inside to find the young lady and who he assumed was the man behind the gruff voice standing about five feet away from Sam.

“Move.” Dean said, pushing past the two to reach his brother. Sam was folded up against the wall, the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes. The first thing Dean noticed was how fast Sam was breathing, far too fast to be healthy. The second, was that there were tears trailing down his cheeks.

“Sammy.” Dean called, smiling when Sam moved his hands and looked up at Dean.

“No, no you shouldn’t be here. He’s gonna hurt you, please leave.” Sam cried, shaking his head before covering his face again. Dean sighed quietly. This was a bad one.

“Sammy, listen to me. You’re on Earth, okay? We got you out, you have to believe that.” Dean assured him, crouching about a foot away from Sam, who only shook his head adamantly.

“Sam, I need you to trust me, okay? You’re having a flashback. I know you’re scared, but you are not in danger, I promise. Just try to breathe, alright?” Dean instructed, having to stop himself from placing a hand on Sam’s knee.

Sam seemed hell bent on hyperventilating, seeing as nothing Dean said seemed to be helping. The logical part of Sam’s brain was well aware that he was safe and on Earth. However, Sam didn’t feel very logical then. Dean had an idea, it was only something he’d tried once, but it worked pretty well at the time.

“You guys got whiskey?” He asked, turning to face the bartender who had stayed back the whole time. He looked absolutely speechless at Dean’s question.

“Just trust me.” Dean pressed, and the man nodded, reaching down to grab the bottle of whiskey from under the bar. He moved to pour it in a glass, and Dean interrupted.

“Just bring me the bottle.” Dean instructed, and again the bartender looked at Dean like he’d completely lost it, but he listened nonetheless. Dean had noticed when he first walked in that Sam was sitting next to a pile of glass, and that he had a cut just below his left elbow. 

Now, before anyone freaks out, no, Dean was definitely not encouraging self harm. However, when Sam was hallucinating a year ago, pain always helped him figure out what was real. And technically this would actually be to his benefit because this wound had clearly not been cleaned yet.

“Can I see your arm?” Dean asked, holding his hand out. Sam hesitated, before placing his arm in Dean’s hand. Dean quickly poured about a shot glass’ worth of whiskey on the wound, and Sam jerked away, grunting against both the shock and the pain. However, not even five seconds later his breathing began to even out.

_ Works every time, _ Dean thought, so beyond relieved that he could always rely on that little trick.

Sam’s breathing slowed enough for him to take deep breaths, trying to stop his brain violently spinning in his skull. His whole body felt like pins and needles.

“Thanks.” He breathed, glancing up at Dean, who was smiling smugly.

“I’m the best big brother ever.” Dean snarked, holding out his hand again to help Sam stand up. By the time the two got to their feet, the three civilians around them looked beyond astounded and confused.

“Long story.” Dean told them, before patting Sam’s shoulder and heading out to the car, knowing Sam was following. They climbed into the car, and the two sat in silence for a moment before Dean turned to face Sam who was staring out the window absently.

“You okay?” He asked, turning the key in the ignition.

“Just feel stupid.” Sam mumbled, not looking away from the window.

“Hey, it’s not stupid. You know that.” Dean reminded him as he pulled out of the parking lot. Luckily, it was a far drive back to the motel.

“Doesn’t make me feel less stupid.” Sam retorted, clearly too miserable to listen to Dean’s assurances.

“We’ll get back to the motel, we’ll get some sleep, and tomorrow we’ll get back to the bunker. Sound good?” Dean asked, already pulling into the motel lot. Sam didn’t answer, instead opening the door and slumping towards the room’s door. Dean remained out in the car after his brother vanished, placing his head in his hands and sighing.

It was not going to be easy getting Sam past all of this.


	19. A Broken Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skipping this chapter for now

Skipping for now


	20. Toto, I Don’t Think We’re In Kansas Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lost/Field Medicine
> 
> MAJOR TW: mild animal gore pls be careful
> 
> (No animals die)
> 
> TWs for this chapter: mild animal gore, graphic depictions of violence, field medicine, mentions of blood, guns (shots fired), mentions of hypothermia, mentions of frostbite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is part one. Part two in the next prompt

Sam never liked the cold. He remembered the first time his father took him to see snow.

_ Winter of 1986, Salem, Oregon _

_ “C’mon, Dean. Let’s get a move on.” John called out, heaving a large duffel bag up from the floor of their motel room and trudging out into the three foot deep snow storm outside. _

_ Dean, barely 7 at the time, grabbed the tiny hand of the baby brother and walked the two of them outside. The deep snow hadn’t been there when Dean had gone to bed the night before. And he was concerned, because Sammy had never seen snow before. And he was right to be concerned. The second Sam’s booted little feet plunged through the snow, leaving him knee-deep in the white fluff, he began to scream in terror. _

_ “Hey, hey, Sammy! It’s okay, don’t cry.” Dean assured the toddler, pulling Sam up and placing him on his back. Sam clung onto his brother like his life depended on it, tears drenching his face as he stared in horror down at the snow. _

_ “Don’t worry, Sammy. We’ll be out of here soon.” Dean promised, carrying his little brother over to the impala and helping him into the backseat. _

_ Barely half an hour into the six hour drive Sammy seemed to have forgotten all about the snow, instead cuddling up against his big brother and falling asleep. _

Sam normally looked back at that day fondly, although, giving his current situation, Sam couldn’t find it in him to think about snow with any sort of positive thought. You see, Sam was currently very,  _ very _ lost in the middle of a set of woods in northern Minnesota. 

Normally Sam wouldn’t freak out about being lost. He’d been lost plenty of times in his life and besides, no one knew woods like the Winchesters. Unfortunately, northern Minnesota in the middle of January was not a pleasant place to take a camping trip. The snow was  _ at least _ seven feet deep, but luckily it had hardened enough that he wasn’t plummeting through it like quick sand.

His phone had died hours ago, so he had no way of checking the weather, but if he had to guess he’d say the daily temperatures ranged between -10 and 05, which was not ideal for a woodland vacation. All he had on him was a dead phone, a backpack full of granola bars, a lighter, and some rope, and, of course, his gun.

Now, Sam wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, which is why he didn’t question it when he came across a seemingly abandoned cabin. Busting in the door, Sam found a dead fireplace, a single coffee mug sitting on the table in the corner, a cast iron pot, some blankets, and  _ thank god _ an axe. Sam decided it best to just count his blessings and try to get a fire started. 

Every inch of him absolutely  _ did not _ want to go back outside to find wood, but there was no way he’d survive the night without a fire. So, begrudgingly, he trudged back out into the deep snow, axe in hand, and began to chop down the nearest tree. Luckily, the trees surrounding the cabin were all pretty thin, which meant they were easy to take down. Within two hours, he had what he hoped was enough wood to last the night.

As he made his way back to the cabin, shielding his eyes from the snow, he heard a low growl.

_ Shit. _

Sam dropped the axe, instead preferring to pull his pistol out of his back pocket. He spun around towards the source of the growl, finding two bright, glowing eyes peering at him from the darkness. Sam pointed his gun at the wolf, hoping to god his fingers weren’t too frozen to pull the trigger.

Sam was no idiot, he was certainly aware of the onset of hypothermia, not to mention frostbite. His fingers had begun to turn blue, and at this point he could barely feel them anymore. To add to that, he was shaking so violently he wasn’t too sure his aim was accurate.

The animal crouched forward, baring its teeth at Sam as its beady eyes glared up at him. Sam did not want to kill this animal. It was clearly just hungry. But it wasn’t worth dying over, so he tried his best to scare the thing off before he was forced to shoot it. His genius plan you ask? Fire a bullet into the tree to the left of the wolf, however, he completely missed and the bullet buried into the snow instead.

The beast yelped and jumped away from the bang of the gun, but did not back down from its mission. Sam cursed under his breath, wondering what to do. If that last shot was anything to go off of, he wasn’t sure he could even hit the wolf with any accuracy at this point. 

It didn’t seem that the universe wanted to give him any more time to think, as the wolf collected itself and lunged at the giant in front of it. Heavy paws collided with Sam’s chest and knocked him on his ass, subsequently knocking the pistol out of his hand. Claws drugged across his stomach as the wolf climbed up to his face. Sam yelled in shock and pain as he fell back, barely pulling his hands up in time to catch the wolf’s heavy head as its jaw snapped violently in Sam’s face.

Drool was dripping down onto his cheek as he desperately held back the aggressive animal, and he turned to look for his pistol. Just his luck, it was much too far away for Sam to reach it. He’d need another plan. Looking in the opposite direction, he found the axe on his left, barely a foot away. Now that he could reach. But it was far too heavy to get enough leverage to hurt the animal enough to knock it off of him.

So instead, he pulled his feet up and underneath the wolf’s torso, kicking as hard as he could. The wolf was launched off of him, and he scrambled through the snow to grab the axe. Despite all logic in his brain telling him to just kill the damn thing, he bashed the blunt end of the axe in the wolf’s side as hard as he could, knocking the animal down onto its side.

The wolf yelped in pain, before scrambling to its feet and taking off into the surrounding woods. Sam gasped in relief, grabbing his pistol, his pile of wood, and dragging his axe along with him back to the cabin. Sam could feel the hot blood soaking through his flannel shirt from the deep, long scratches running down his stomach. 

Finally, he reached the cabin. He made sure to lock the door before making his way over to the fireplace, knowing that the wound was probably more urgent, but he was just so damn cold. He piled the chunks of wood into the fireplace, ripping some paper up out of the book on the table and tossing them on top of the wood.

Thank god for his lighter. The fire started out very slow, and he decided to take some extra time to care for his wound. He lifted his shirt and jacket gently, cringing at the deep cuts running across his stomach. Really his only option was to rip up one of the blankets and use it as bandages. He definitely did not want to lose one of the blankets, but it was either that or bleeding to death.

Sam groaned loudly as he pressed down on the wound with a patch of the blanket, before ripping it into strips and tying it around his stomach. That would have to be enough until he got help.

Finally, the fire began to roar in the dark, but the sound was drowned out by the deafening wind pounding against the door and windows of the cabin. Sam grabbed one of the blankets and huddled up in front of the fireplace, desperately hoping he could get some sleep.


	21. I Don’t Feel So Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hypothermia
> 
> TWs for this chapter: animal gore, death of an animal, hypothermia, mentions of amputated limbs (doesn’t actually happen), mentions of wounds, near death experience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you still wanna read this chapter but don’t want to read the animal gore it will be sectioned out between two text breaks!
> 
> This is a direct sequel of the previous chapter, PLEASE read that first or this won’t make full sense.

When Sam woke up he found first that the numbness in his fingers had extended to his elbows. At this point his fingers were practically frozen solid, he could barely move them. Not to mention they were blue and covered in frost. His feet weren’t much better. The second thing he noticed was that the fire was dead.

He knew he needed to find food today, he could feel his stomach rumbling. So he grabbed his axe and his gun and trudged back out into the now much deeper snow. His breaths were now coming far too slow, he was tripping repeatedly as he walked, and he could barely keep his eyes open. All telltale signs of stage two of hypothermia.

—————————

It was hours before Sam came across anything edible. And it happened to be a bird, about the size of a pigeon, sitting up in the tree about ten feet away from Sam. Sam didn’t know how the hell he planned on killing this bird. He would have to magically find a way to pull the trigger of his gun, let alone how shit his aim surely was.

Don’t ask him how, but barely ten minutes later Sam had a dead bird in his frozen hands. He made his way back to the cabin as quick as he could, which wasn’t very quick when he took in the incessant tripping and stumbling of his frozen legs.

Finally he returned to the cabin, slamming the door behind him and hurrying over to the fireplace. He managed to get the fire started once more, letting it warm up as he defeathered the bird. Once he was content with his task, he placed the bird inside the cast iron pot and placed it in the fire.

Now Sam was the designated cook between him and his brother, but who the hell would know how long to cook a pigeon-like bird in a cast iron pot on top of a fire? His solution was just to keep checking on it every few minutes until it looked edible.

Finally he found what looked like cooked meat, and he made quick work of eating the bird. No matter how much Sam hated the running joke amongst humans, it kind of did taste like chicken.

————————

His watch told him it was around ten in the morning when he decided he couldn’t stay here. It could take days for anyone to find him in this cabin, and he couldn’t wait days. From his initial trek into the woods, he knew he wasn’t too deep in, which meant it couldn’t be too far of a walk back out. All he had to do was figure out which way was north.

So he collected his objects into his backpack, dragging the axe behind him as he headed back out into the snow. It was pretty easy to find north with Sam’s hunting skills, so he made his way north. He walked for hours and hours, continuously praying that he wouldn’t run into any more large and violent animals.

Sam had never felt more hands done  _ relief _ as he did when he broke free from the wall of trees and discovered himself standing on a road. He gasped heavily as he made his way out onto the road, trying to remember which direction the motel was. However, Sam knew that Dean wouldn’t be there. Seeing as he was surely too busy looking for his brother. 

Sam continued to walk for another hour or two, before  _ finally _ a car drove by. He barely managed to lift his hand to wave, as the car pulled over on the side of the road. Thank god this road was being plowed throughout the storm or else there would never be a car.

The Subaru pulled over, and a young looking girl climbed out and sprinted over to him.

“Holy crap! Are you okay, mister? Jesus Christ, you’re frozen solid. Here, get in, get in. Let’s get you someplace warm.” She panicked, ushering Sam towards her car. Sam was far too frozen and  _ far too tired _ to complain as he stiffly climbed into the backseat and laid down, barely able to lift his head.

“Let me turn on the heater. Holy fucking crap, don’t die, okay?” The girl begged, blasting the heater as she took off towards what Sam hoped was the direction of town.

“I-I-I n-need to g-g-get to the r-raven m-m-motel.” Sam stuttered heavily, the chattering of his teeth being basically the only thing he could hear.

“Sir, I need to take you to the hospital!” She argued, and before Sam could disagree he had fallen asleep on the backseat, nearly crying at how nice the heater felt.

When Sam woke up he was lying in a hospital bed, and god was he still so cold. He found himself wrapped in an excessive pile of blankets, lying on top of what he assumed was a heating pad, with heat packs wrapped around his hands and feat. The pain was indescribable. His hands were completely numb, so numb in fact that for a moment he was sure he no longer had hands.

But his feet were just alive enough to hurt, as they were so cold that even the slightest warmth burned like fire. Not to mention the pain from the wound on his stomach. Sam looked around the room, hoping to find his brother. No such luck. He wanted to press the nurse call button but he couldn’t yet move his hands.

“Hello?” He called, hoping someone would hear him. The same young girl from before came stumbling out of the bathroom in a panic, hurrying over to Sam.

“Oh, thank god, you’re awake. I thought you were dead. How do you feel?” She asked, seeming genuinely worried.

“I’m still pretty cold. Where am I?” Sam asked, his throat feeling like sandpaper rubbing together.

“The local emergency room. That motel you asked about is a few miles down the road.” She told him, gesturing towards the window.

“Can you make a call for me?” Sam requested, wishing he could move his fingers. She nodded enthusiastically, pulling out her cell.

“Who am I calling?” She asked, ready to dial.

“My brother, Dean.” Sam told her, reciting Dean’s cell number.

He didn’t hear Dean answer, but he could tell he must’ve sounded angry because the girl immediately started defending herself.

“Hey! Your brother is in the emergency room, I didn’t do anything, alright? I just found him on the side of the road, frozen half to death.” She told him which hospital, and then hung up, seemingly terrified of Dean’s violent tone.

“What a character.” She mumbled, stuffing her phone in her pocket.

“He’s a little overprotective, sorry. Hey, what’s your name?” Sam asked, trying to calm her down. Sam could imagine how stressful today had been for the poor girl.

“I’m Sandra Fellow. And you?” She asked, smiling down at Sam.

“Sam Winchester.” He told her, glad that she seemed to have relaxed a little at the question. 

“How the hell did you end up like that, Sam Winchester?” She asked, her eyes big as she waited impatiently for the surely exciting story.

“Got lost. Then I got snowed in for a night. Got attacked by a wolf. Ate a bird. You know, typical Tuesday.” He joked, watching as her whole face fell into shock at the mention of a wolf.

“You survived a wolf attack?” She questioned enthusiastically, staring at Sam in admiration.

“Yeah, trust me, I’ve fought worse.” She didn’t seem to notice the inside joke, instead starting to ramble about how cool that was.

“I hope you don’t mind that I stayed. I couldn’t leave without seeing the story to the end.” Sandra said shyly, scratching the back of her neck and looking down at the floor.

“I appreciate it. My brother will too, trust me. You tell him you saved my life and he’ll practically kiss your feet.” Sam laughed at his own joke, wishing Dean was here already.

His wish was granted twenty minutes later, when Dean came rushing into Sam’s room with panic on his face. He barely even glanced at Sandra, instead hurrying over to Sam.

“Are you okay? Where the hell have you been?” Dean shouted, and Sam could tell how tired he was. It would seem Dean hadn’t slept much last night either.

“I’m fine, Dean. Just stage two hypothermia and some mild frostbite. Sandra over there saved me.” Sam told his brother, nodding towards the girl across the room. She shyly waved at Dean, her shoulders slumped as he smiled nervously at the man.

“Thank you.” Dean told her, before turning back to Sam.

“What the hell happened?” Dean asked, gesturing adamantly to Sam’s blanket burrito.

Sam recounted the story the best he could, so some of it was now pretty fuzzy. Dean listened, entirely enraptured by Sam’s story. Neither of them planned on commenting, but Sam could tell how impressed Dean was.

“So, you still have all of your fingers?” Dean joked, only half serious as he patted Sam’s heat pack-wrapped hand. Despite how stupid the joke was, Sam laughed.

“Not that I can feel any of them, but yeah, I’m pretty sure they’re all still there.” Sam responded, looking back up at Sandra.

“Hey, you don’t have to worry anymore. I’ll be fine with my brother here.” Sam assured her, and her shoulders sagged in relief.

“I just had to stay to make sure you were alright.” Sandra shrugged, smiling warmly and patting Sam’s shoulder on her way to the door.

“Hey, Sandra, thank you.” Sam told her, and she grinned as she made her way out into the hallway.

“Permission to sleep until I’m dead?” Sam whined, nestling further into his blanket burrito, wondering when his limbs would stop shaking.

“Sure, kid. You earned it. Lemme go chat with the doc, I’ll be right back.” Dean said, tapping Sam’s hand and heading out of the room.

Sam sighed heavily as he felt his eyes start to drift shut.


	22. Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Drugged/Poisoned/Withdrawal
> 
> TWs for this chapter: drugged, mentions of drug addictions, implied/referenced drug addiction, implied/referenced withdrawals from drug, mentions of blood, mentions of alcohol, mentions of demons

Sam was not the kind to hang out in bars. That was more his brother’s style. Now, Sam had plenty of reasons why he didn’t like to hang out in bars, and this was definitely one of them.

Late on a Tuesday night, or maybe early morning was more accurate, Sam walked in the local bar, barely a mile away from the bunker. He sat down at the bar, waiting patiently for the bartender to notice him. Clearly he must have looked as stressed as he felt, seeing as the bartender walked right up to him with an empathetic smile.

“Rough day?” The man asked, leaning to his left and handing the woman next to Sam her drink.

“You have no idea.” Sam muttered, burying his face in his hands.

“Oh yeah, I’ve got the drink for you.” The man snickered, shuffling around with clinking glasses and bottles and ice cubes. Sam finally looked up when he heard a glass slide across the hard, wood surface of the bar. The glass was full of a dark red liquid, but smelled strongly of whiskey.

“It’s called ‘Bloodbath’. It’s new. And trust me, it’s strong.” Sam huffed in a weak attempt at laughter, reaching out and grabbing the glass.

Now, don’t misunderstand. Sam was not stupid. In fact, he considered himself to be pretty damn smart. But when does it ever cross the mind of a 6’ 4”, 200+ pound professional hunter that he might be drugged at a bar? Never. The answer is never. So, he drank the ‘Bloodbath’. And boy would he regret it.

The drink was very thick, and it was a consistency Sam recognized, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Nevertheless, he kind of loved it, so he downed the rest.

“You know what? Give me another.” Sam requested, pushing the now empty glass away. The bartender grinned and chuckled as he mixed another drink.

It wasn’t until Sam was halfway through his third ‘Bloodbath’ that he began to think something wasn’t right. It wasn’t what he’d expected being drugged to feel like. In fact, it was the opposite. He felt fucking incredible.

Adrenaline was surging through him and he felt the need to hit something, if only to get the energy out. He wanted to scream from the top of his lungs and jump up and down like an excited toddler. What  _ was  _ this thing?

Sam recognized this feeling. He’d felt like this before. Every day for a very long time. But that wasn’t possible, right? He hadn’t touched the stuff in years. He hadn’t even wanted to touch the stuff in years. But there was no other explanation for how on top of the world Sam felt right now.

“Hey, what all is in these?” Sam asked, gathering the bartender’s attention.

“I think you know what’s in there.” The man grinned cockily, and Sam felt his stomach hit the floor.

“What the hell did you do?” Sam gasped, shoving away from the bar, subsequently knocking over the drink. He felt like his blood was on  _ fire _ .

“Come on. Don’t tell me you didn’t miss it.” The bartender smirked, making his way around the bar to approach Sam.

“Who are you?” Sam growled, trying to ignore the sound of his pulse echoing in his skull.

“My name is Aaron. And I need your help.” The man’s smile dropped, and he sat in one of the stools in front of the bar, seemingly satisfied as he noticed Sam’s limbs starting to shake.

“Why the hell would I help you after you drugged me?” Sam snapped, his hand hovering above his gun.

“Because, if you help me, I can get you more.” The bartender shrugged as if it was obvious.

“If I wanted it, I’d get it myself.” Sam argued, pulling his gun and pointing it at the man. “Now why’d you do this to me?”

“I told you, I need your help. My daughter was taken by a pack of demons. No way I can rescue her on my own. I need your abilities.” The bartender told Sam, his facade dropping and revealing a somber expression.

“Didn’t you think to just ask? My brother and I could probably get your daughter home  _ without the demon blood. _ ” Sam yelled, trying so damn hard to stop himself from shooting the man.

“There’s too many of them. No normal man is gonna walk into a nest of demons and kill them all without my baby getting hurt.” The man retorted, now holding his hands up in surrender.

Sam sighed, dropping the gun and putting it back in his pocket. “We’ll help. But we’ll do it for your daughter, not for you. Let me call my brother.”

Sam stepped out onto the street to call Dean, having absolutely zero idea how the hell he was going to explain this one.

“Sammy? Kinda late isn’t it?” Dean asked, clearly having been woken up by the phone.

“Dean, look it’s urgent. Can you meet me at Bobby Mackey’s?” Sam asked, desperately trying to ignore the rush of blood through his brain.

“I’ll be right there.” Dean said, right before the dial tone rang out. Sam headed back inside, telling the man that Dean was on his way.

“What’s your name?” Sam asked, wanting as much information as possible before Dean arrived.

“Aaron Samuels.” He said, reaching out to shake Sam’s hand, which Sam dismissed adamantly.

Dean arrived not even five minutes later, surely having sped the whole way, and practically kicked the door in.

“What’s so urgent?” He asked, immediately making his way over to Sam while eying Aaron warily.

“It’s a long story, alright? Just don’t shoot anyone.” Sam warned, looking between Dean and Aaron. Dean squinted suspiciously, now full on glaring at Aaron.

“We have a big problem. Aaron Samuels over there, thought it was really funny to drug me.” Sam told Dean, gesturing towards Aaron. Dean’s eyes practically lit ablaze.

“What?” He snapped, glaring daggers at Aaron, but remembering Sam asked him not to shoot anyone. “With what?”

“Take a wild guess.” Sam shrugged, frowning at his brother. He could see the moment the realization dawned on Dean, and he could practically smell the smoke blowing out of his ears.

“Excuse me?” Dean growled, looking straight at Aaron, who was slumped over shyly, like he was terrified of Dean. As he should be.

“Long story short, he needs my help saving his daughter from a pack of demons. But I figured you wouldn’t want me doing it alone.” Sam finished the story with another shrug, staring worriedly at Dean’s clenched fists.

“Are you insane?” Dean shouted, his attention back on Sam. “Sam, we are not going down this road again. We are going to get you home,  _ right now _ , and then we can come back and help this prick when you’re sober.”

“Dean, listen, that’s not the right thing to do. I’ve already got the shit in me, I might as well use it for good while it’s there.” Sam argued, however, he was just as pissed as Dean was. Dean held up a finger, clearly about to argue, before dropping his hand.

“ _ Fine. _ But as soon as she is safe, you’re going straight home, do you understand me?” Dean snapped, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and sitting at the bar.

“Well? Are you gonna tell us what you know?” Dean growled, slamming the now empty glass now onto the counter.

Aaron told them all the details of his daughter’s kidnapping, even being able to tell them where the demons were holding her. And Sam and Dean took off. The car ride was disturbingly silent, neither of them knowing what to say.

“Dean, look, I get it. You’re pissed. I’m pissed too. But can we just get through this without you having a coronary?” Sam asked, looking over towards his brother, who’s forehead vein was sticking out.

“You’re damn right, I’m pissed! Who the hell does this guy think he is? I don’t want to go through all of this again, and I’m damn sure you don’t either. This guy had no right to put us through this again. Especially you. This is all kinds of fucked up.” Dean growled, staring straight ahead at the road with his fists clenched around the wheel.

Sam only sighed. Dean was right. Sam did  _ not _ want to go through this again. Detoxing both times had been some of the worst times of Sam’s entire life. It was endless suffering and pain. For both of them. By the time Sam got out of the panic room he was covered head to toe in bruises, he was sweaty and so far beyond dehydrated, and he was the most exhausted he’d ever felt. And Dean was at his wits end.

Not to mention, this time around they no longer had Bobby for moral support. They were going to have to do this on their own this time. Which was not going to be easy.

It took a few hours, but they finally returned the little girl to her father, Dean promising that if he ever saw Aaron again he’d kill him, before they made their way back to the bunker. Sam was already starting to feel sick by the time they arrived. The two silently agreed that this had to go down in the dungeon.

Once Dean had locked the door behind him, the two fell into silence.

“How long are you gonna stay?” Sam asked, glancing up at his brother from his position on the cot they’d dragged into the dungeon.

“However long you need me to stay.” Dean answered, scrolling through something on his phone. Sam sighed. They both were clearly trying to avoid the obvious.

“Dean, we both know what we have to do now.” Sam spoke up, fidgeting with his fingers. Dean sighed, finally looking up from his phone.

“Yeah. Let’s get it over with.” Dean grumbled, leaving the dungeon and returning several minutes later with multiple pairs of handcuffs. 

Once Dean was done, he returned to his silence. “Dean, you don’t have to stay.” Sam told him, glancing up at where his brother was leaning against the wall.

“Do you want me to stay?” Dean asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I think it’ll just make it harder on both of us. You should go get some work done. Or try to sleep. I’ll be fine.” Sam said, nodding towards the door. Dean hesitated, clearly not comfortable leaving Sam alone. They looked at each other for a moment, before Dean sighed heavily, handing Sam his phone.

“You call me if you need me, alright?” Dean asked, clearly not leaving until Sam agreed.

“Of course.” Sam promised, and Dean chewed on his lip for a moment before leaving.

Let’s just say, that that was one of the hardest nights the brothers have had in years.


	23. What’s A Whumpee Gotta Do To Get Some Sleep Around Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Exhaustion/Narcolepsy/Sleep Deprivation
> 
> I’m coming back to this

I’m gonna come back one whumptober is over and I have more time


	24. You’re Not Making Any Sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Forced Mutism/Blindfolded
> 
> Another day, another skip

This whumptober has just been really hard for some reason. I just can’t find it in me to write every day


	25. I Think I’ll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Disorientation/Blurred vision/Ringing ears
> 
> TWs for this chapter: implied/referenced terrorist attack, explosions, minor character deaths (multiple), death of an unborn child, near death of a toddler, mentions of teen pregnancy, mentions of the FBI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can guess what show this chapter referenced, yay, but if you can guess what episode??? I’ll love you forever.

The Ladybird Diner was one of Sam’s favorite places to go and eat. Dean usually hit up the quaint little diner every Sunday morning, seeing as it was barely a mile away from the bunker, and, as Dean puts it, their burgers were “crack in a bun”. Sam usually had a salad or an omelet, something that Dean managed to make a witty comment on literally every single Sunday.

As they did every week, Sam and Dean walked into the Ladybird Diner at exactly 7:30am, grins on their faces as they gave a good morning wave to Kathy at the register, Miranda and Sandy, the two waitresses, and of course, Marvin the cook. Inside the diner on this fine Sunday morning, besides Sam and Dean and the aforementioned employees, was a nice looking couple in the booth near the door, the woman visibly pregnant, a lonely old man staring endlessly into his coffee mug, a man about Dean’s age talking to Sandy at the breakfast bar, and a mom and her two toddlers.

It was the busiest the diner had been in weeks, and Sam was glad to see it. Miranda, the elder of the two waitresses, approached the brothers’ table with a warm smile on her face, notebook in hand.

“Do I even need this darn thing? The usual?” She asked, putting the notebook back in her pocket and resting a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Yes, ma’am. Thanks, ‘Randa.” Dean smiled back, patting her arm as she walked away. The boys knew these employees quite well. In the year that they’d lived in town they’d visited the diner every Sunday without fail.

Miranda was a senior in college, working at the diner to pay off her student loans. She wanted to be a lawyer, which is what sparked the friendship between her and Sam. They got to chatting one Sunday, and her dreams came up, and Sam told her all about Stanford and the LSAT, giving her tips and tricks to study.

She was sure something to look at, what with her long brown hair, usually up in a hurried, messy bun, a pencil stuck through to hold it together. She was pretty skinny when they’d first met her, but over time she’d filled out more as Kathy, the manager, started giving her free meals so she wouldn’t have to survive on pizza and top ramen.

Sandy had just graduated high school, but she’s worked at the diner since she was fourteen. Last Sunday was actually her 18th birthday, and Sam and Dean had arrived at their usual time with a home baked cake. It was pretty sloppy, but Sandy deeply appreciated the gesture. She wasn’t quite sure what her plans were, but the baby cooking in her belly sure wasn’t helping. Only Sam knew though. He’d found her outside during her break one day crying her eyes out, and she’d confessed everything, making him promise not to tell.

Just as her name implied, the teen had sandy-blonde hair, always in a braid over her shoulder. She usually came into work with a backpack full of homework for the community college courses she’d just started, and she always seemed so stressed the last month or so. Dean usually tried to cheer her up with a joke or two, but he could never stop himself from wondering what such a young girl was so stressed about.

Kathy was a bit of a larger woman, and she could eat like… well, like Dean. The two had a burger eating competition every few months, which Dean of course won every time. She had two young boys at home, and she liked to say that she hoped they grew up like the Winchesters. “Such lovely boys,” she’d say to Miranda in passing after they’d left.

She had marvelous red hair, not like Rowena’s, more like Charlie’s. More natural. But, like Miranda, it was always up, seeing as it was so long it’d get caught in the buttons on the register. She wore the same green sneakers every day, claiming to have seven pairs of the same shoe. When Sam asked, she said she was inspired by Albert Einstein. That was the hardest Sam had laughed in weeks.

Marvin, the cook, was the eldest of the workers. Sandy liked to say he was the dad of the diner. He wasn’t in a five star restaurant, but boy could he make a burger. Dean made sure to thank Marvin for his ‘marvelous meat’ every week, a comment that always got a laugh. Marvin had a daughter about Sandy’s age, struggling her way through some big prestigious college in New York, and he’d work tooth and nail to get her through it.

He was tall, around Sam’s height, with short, black hair and a greasy, food-stained white shirt that only managed to end up in the wash on Friday nights. Sam made sure to ask how his daughter Amy was doing every weekend, knowing Marvin worried about her. Luckily, she was doing alright this week.

Sam was always excited to head to the diner every Sunday, but he never would’ve guessed what this week would bring them.

“Here ya go, boys.” Miranda grinned, placing Dean’s burger and Sam’s omelet on the dining table, along with a beer and a glass of water.

“Thank you, darlin’.” Dean told her, digging into his burger.

“Thanks, Miranda.” Sam said, shaking his head at his brother’s eating habits.

The two conversated on and off as they ate, both just enjoying the fact that there was really nothing to talk about. No big bad, no new apocalypse. No, it seemed the brothers were in the limbo between world-ending disasters, and they were going to enjoy it while it lasted.

Dean finished first, as always, and sipped his beer as he waited patiently for Sam to finish. Sometimes he wondered why Sam ate so slowly. But Sam didn’t have to wonder. He knew exactly why Dean practically swallowed everything whole.

Growing up, Sam always had food. He never had to worry about his next meal, because Dean would give every last scrap to his little brother. And it wasn’t until they reunited after Stanford that Sam even realized that Dean did that. But Dean, he never knew when he was going to eat again. He’d go days sometimes without eating. And despite having financial security, and a whole kitchen all to himself, some habits just never go away.

Finally, Sam finished his meal, and the two stood from their table, handing Miranda her tip personally, before walking over to Kathy at the register and chatting with her as they paid for their meal. They waved their goodbyes as they walked out the door, and they were nearly to the car before Sam froze.

“Crap. I forgot my wallet. Hang on.” Sam cursed, patting his pockets. He turned and began to jog back across the street to the diner. But, he never made it to the door.

It was sudden, and it hit hard. A loud, stentorian boom hit, and Sam felt himself go flying back as some kind of force slammed into him. He didn’t feel himself hit the ground, as his eyes slipped shut at the contact.

Sam woke what felt like days later to someone shaking his shoulder in a panic. He managed to peel his eyes open, but it didn’t do him much good. His vision was fuzzy around the edges, and there were white dots dancing across his field of view. He turned towards the body of the hands still shaking him, to find his brother, panic in his eyes. It was clear Dean was speaking, shouting maybe, but Sam could only hear the loud screeching in his ears. It was almost painful.

“What?!” Sam shouted, holding his hands over his ears to try and lessen the ringing. He was never very good at lip-reading, but he could’ve sworn he saw Dean ask, ‘are you okay?’

“I’m fine, I think!” Sam sure as hell didn’t feel like he was shouting, but from Dean’s wince and look of concern, he surely was.

“What happened?” Sam asked, deliberately trying to keep his voice down. He must not have done a great job.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dean asked, or at least Sam thought that’s what he asked.

“My ears are ringing.”

Dean patted Sam’s shoulder and held out his palm, clearly indicating  _ stay here _ , before taking off into the billowing smoke from above the diner.

_ Holy shit _ , Sam thought, trying to move to his feet, but he didn’t get very far before the world slipped out from underneath him and he fell back to the floor. Sam looked around in panic, hoping to god everyone made it out okay. He found Kathy, Miranda, and Marvin standing next to the fire engine. Kathy and Marvin were trying to hold back Miranda, who was desperately fighting against their grip and surely screaming.

He watched as the lone man who was about Dean’s age came stumbling out the front door of the diner, leading the pregnant woman. He helped her into the hands of a fireman, before turning to run back inside. Luckily he was stopped by a fireman.

Sam had yet to find the woman’s husband. He did however find the single mom, holding onto one of her toddlers, screaming as tears streamed down her face, surely begging for the firemen to find her other child.

Five agonizing minutes later, Dean emerged from the smoke carrying the other child. There was blood streaming down the little boy’s face, but he seemed unharmed despite it. The mother grabbed her son from Dean’s, probably thanking him in earnest, before she huddled up on the ground clutching her babies.

Dean then walked over to Kathy and Marvin, still holding a distraught Miranda between the two of them. Miranda paused at his approach, staring at him with desperation in his eyes. 

Sam swore he saw Dean say, “I’m so sorry,” and immediately Miranda became screaming again and collapsed in the arms of her boss and friend. Sam was far too disoriented to put the pieces together, but something told him he didn’t want to. Dean laid a hand on Miranda’s shoulder, before walking back over to Sam with his head down and his shoulders slumped.

Sam could tell from Dean’s face that something bad had happened, and finally as the ringing began to fade away from his ears, he managed to ask the dreaded question.

“What happened?” He asked, still a little too loud, as Dean crouched in front of his brother.

“Sandy’s gone.”

“Oh god. Damn it.” Sam frowned deeply, burying his face in his dirty, bloody hands. He wasn’t sure yet where the blood came from.

“I went in to help but… she was already gone. Must’ve suffocated on the smoke. She probably got stuck in the kitchen. Poor thing.” Dean muttered, wiping a hand down his face as he tried not to cough. The smoke had gotten to him in the extended time he’d spent in the diner searching for the missing toddler.

“Are you boys alright?” A paramedic asked as she approached Sam and Dean.

“My ears are ringing pretty bad, but I’m getting better. He inhaled a lot of smoke though.” Sam told her, gesturing to his brother. She held her hand out to pull Sam to his feet, who immediately leaned on Dean as he struggled to stand up straight. It felt like his equilibrium had shifted, most likely something to do with his ears.

She sat them down on the tail of the ambulance, handing Dean an oxygen mask as she looked at Sam’s ears. Dean tried to put the mask back, but Sam offered him a death glare, so he begrudgingly picked it back up.

“Yeah, this drum’s been burst. Hence the blood. Other one looks alright, just some shock. It doesn’t look too bad, you got lucky. Just avoid anything too loud for a few weeks and it’ll heal on its own.” She assured him, climbing out of the ambulance to go help the other survivors.

Sam and Dean sat in silence, Dean trying to focus on breathing instead of the image of a dead 18 year old girl floating through his brain. 

It was hours before Sam and Dean made it home. They’d stayed behind to try and help in any way they could. Sam mostly tried to comfort his friends, who were struck by the tragic loss of their friend.

Dean focused more on the firefighters, asking what he could do to help. That is, until he was approached by someone new on the scene.

“Excuse me, sir. May I?” The woman asked, holding out a badge.

_ Crap. What is the real FBI doing here? _

“Of course. How can I help?”

“My name is Agent Jareau, FBI behavioral analysis unit. Tell me everything you can.” The agent told him, putting her badge away.

Dean explained the situation, telling her who he was sure died, and mentioning the fact that he saved the toddler and that the other man saved the pregnant woman.

“Thank you for your time.” She said, seeming genuine, before she and her interestingly large and diverse team approached the firefighters.

Dean made his way back to Sam and his friends, telling them to call if they needed anything, before the two headed home for the day.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked as they tossed their phones and keys onto the map table in the main entrance of the bunker. Sam slumped in the chair nearest the stairs, running his hands down his face.

“She was pregnant.” He muttered, staring at his hands in his lap.

“What? Who?”

“Sandy. She was two months pregnant. She told me last week. She was so scared.” Sam paused, trying not to cry. He wasn’t usually a sap like this, but she was his friend and she was so  _ young _ .

“Damn.” Dean cursed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I talked to the FBI today. The real FBI.” Dean said, changing the subject.

“What?” Sam asked, finally looking up from his hands.

“Yeah. Some big deal team too. My guess is they think this was some kind of attack.”

“We’re staying out of it, right?” Sam asked, hoping to god Dean would say yes.

“Of course. I’m not messing with the real FBI again. No way.”

The two were silent then, and after a moment Sam grabbed his phone and slumped off to his room. Dean meanwhile cracked open a beer and leaned back in his chair, staring at the open bottle with a frown etched onto his face.

When would they stop losing friends?


	26. If You Thought The Head Trauma Was Bad...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Migraine/Concussion/blindness

Another no go. I’ve been super depressed yesterday and today and I honestly just can’t bring myself to write. As with the other skips, once whumptober is over and I have more time and energy I’ll come back and complete the missing chapters


	27. Ok, Who Had Natural Disasters On Their 2020 Bingo Card?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Earthquake/Extreme Weather/Power Outage

Another skip _for now_


	28. Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Accidents/Hunting Season/Mugged

I’m having massive writers block this block cuz of some stuff going on with my dad so I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish whumptober in time. But as I’ve mentioned in the other skipped chapters, as soon as I’m able I will come back and fill all the gaps!


	29. I Think I Need A Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Emergency Room/Reluctant bedrest/intubation
> 
> Ugh

Anyone else watch last night’s episode and is just so fucking pissed off at Dean right now and wants nothing to do with the entire show??


End file.
